


Dear Friend

by ShannaraIsles



Series: Cullen & Mila's Modern Adventures [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Modern AU, My Festive Project, Shop Around the Corner AU, Single Parent Cullen, Sort Of, Zookeeper AU, widower cullen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-18 04:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13092591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannaraIsles/pseuds/ShannaraIsles
Summary: My festive project. A Modern AU heavily based on The Shop Around The Corner, in which Cullen Rutherford finds love between Satinalia and First Day.





	1. Chapter 1

_Dear Friend,_

_I almost can't believe we've been writing to one another for over a year already! Even though we don't know names or jobs or any of the basic things most friends know about each other, you and the Nuglet have become very special to me over these last few months. You gave me an anchor when I first came to Denerim, something to look forward to every other day. There's a very special sort of anticipation that comes with walking into the Post Office, opening up Box 754, and seeing a letter in there waiting for me. It means you're still there, and still talking, and it always makes me smile._

_Smiles are in short supply at the moment at work for me - I'm up for a promotion, but my aforesaid nemesis is also up for the same position. This person has more experience in the job than I do, more connections higher up, I'm sure. But I'm hoping that my ideas and enthusiasm will be enough to nab the promotion out from under their nose -_

"Daddy, what's a prom-shun?"

Cullen glanced down at his daughter cuddled against his side, lowering the letter for a moment.

"A promotion is when you get given a more responsible position in the place where you work, Alys," he explained to his ten-year-old affectionately. "I'll be getting a promotion tomorrow, when I move from just one of the lion keepers to the head of lion keepers in the Big Cat Department at the zoo. It means better pay, but more responsibilities, and usually other people have to do what you tell them to."

Alys nodded in understanding, red curls bouncing with the movement as he eyes focused on the page. "Keep reading."

He chuckled, raising the letter once again.

_\- from under their nose. It never hurts to hope, does it? It probably wouldn't sting so much if it was someone else up for the same job. I know, it's terribly petty of me to take it so personally, but some people just aren't meant to mix, like Orlesians and Fereldans. Other people obviously **are** meant to mix ... like me and you and the Nuglet._

_I hesitated for so long before writing that. But that is how I feel. I like you, very much. You're my confidante, my closest friend; I tell you guys everything, within the rules we set down at the start. If I see something you or the Nuglet might like, I want to tell you both instantly, right at that moment. Speaking of which, I hope the Nuglet likes the Satinalia present I found for her.  
_

"There's a present?"

Cullen laughed as Alys perked up again, watching as eyes that were almost an echo of his own began to peer suspiciously around the room.

"Yes, there were two wrapped presents in the box this morning," he told her, nodding toward their decorated tree. "And they're both under there, waiting for Satinalia morning to be opened."

Alys squirmed next to him. "I want to open it _now_ ," she complained. "So you can tell Dear Friend how much I like it!"

"I _will_ tell Dear Friend how much you like it," he assured her. " _After_ Satinalia."

She pouted, drawing another laugh from her father as he hugged her into his side, skimming the last paragraph of the letter in his hand. They were never very long, but they didn't have to be. Whoever Dear Friend was, she clearly lived near them in Denerim - near enough to visit the same Post Office every day, delivering or collecting from the PO Box they shared.

It had been a whim, a little over a year ago, when Alys had come home from school wanting to do something nice for a complete stranger. They'd found together an advertisement in the paper asking for people to volunteer to be pen pals for others who were new to the city, to help them settle in, and had applied with a minimum of fuss. They'd been paired with their Dear Friend, a woman who had moved to Denerim only a few months before and, sharing the cost of maintaining the PO Box with her, they had been writing back and forth ever since. Every day, Cullen dropped by the Post Office, either to deliver a letter into the box or to remove one. It was a strange thing, but this connection by post seemed to have drawn both him and Alys out of their quiet sadness together. Her mother had died a few years before, an accident no one could have foreseen, and it had left a distinct cloud over their lives. A cloud that Dear Friend had lifted, without even knowing it. Even Mia had commented on their brighter outlook, gently teasing her brother about being in love with a woman he'd never even laid eyes on. Cullen rebuffed every suggestion aloud, but in the secrets of his heart ... he knew there was every possibility that his big sister was right.

Dear Friend was a warm, intelligent, funny woman, who didn't seem to realize she was as enticing as she was friendly. She wrote with a fountain pen on elfroot-scented paper, her handwriting curved and soothing to read. Alys adored the little comments in each letter that referred to her alone, and Dear Friend seemed delighted with every picture the little girl drew for her. As for Cullen, he felt as though he'd found a kindred spirit, someone who had faith that mirrored his, interests that mirrored his yet also opened him to new experiences. At Dear Friend's suggestion, he and Alys had visited museums they would never ordinarily have gone to, and each found something to appreciate there. He had to admit, he smiled when he thought about his pen pal. There was some sort of connection there ... which made what the letter went on to say just a little alarming.

_This is surprisingly difficult to write, but I promised myself I would ask, just once. Dear Friend, we've been talking like this for more than a year now, and though I know we initially said no names, no personal information, no meetings, I feel as though we may have moved on from that. I wonder ... would you like to meet?  
_

"Yes!" Alys threw her hands up delightedly. "Yes, you're going to dinner!"

"I haven't said yes, Alys," her father reminded her.

"But you're going to, right?" she asked pointedly. "She could come over for dinner here and we could draw together."

"A first meeting will not be happening in our house, Nuglet," Cullen told her gently, amused by her enthusiasm at the thought. "Neutral territory makes it safer for everyone. And as much as you might want to, _you_ will not be going to a first meeting."

The little girl scowled. "Fine. But you _have_ to meet her. You can do it on Satinalia Eve, 'cos I'm going to be at Auntie Mia's all day, so you could go after you finish with the lions and still be there when I get up in the morning for presents!"

"Perhaps."

"Not a perhaps, a _yes_ ," Alys insisted. "If you do not say yes, I will never kiss you ever again."

Cullen eyed her for a moment, snorting with laughter. "Fine," he conceded. After all, what was the worst that could happen? Even if she was ugly as sin, she had a beautiful mind and heart. That was what mattered, right? "Fine, I will ask her to dinner on Satinalia Eve. Happy?"

Alys nodded cheerfully, gesturing to the letter. "Keep reading."

_I would very much like to put a face and a name to my Dear Friend and his Nuglet, but I do understand if this is a step too far. Please, don't worry about offending me with a no. It's simply a hopeful wish for the season._

_With deepest affection for my best friends in the city,  
Your Friend._

 

* * *

 

The zoo was already open when Cullen arrived, Alys' hand firmly in his own. With school broken up for the festive holiday, she had decided she was coming into work with him every day, and had worked her charm on his immediate superior to make sure it was allowed. Not that much charm was needed; Varric Tethras loved anyone who was as interested in his big cats as he was, and Alys had already informed him at the age of six that she was going to be a lion keeper like her father when she grew up. It was a matter of course now that each time school was out, Alys would accompany her father into work at least three days a week.

The dwarf was in the break-room, deep in conversation with Mila Trevelyan, when the Rutherfords arrived. Cullen stifled a groan. Mila was a brilliant, enthusiastic pain in his ass; excellent with the animals and the visitors, and always questioning the way things were done here. She'd been with the zoo for about a year, starting out with the lynxes and ocelots, but had been upgraded to the Big Cats a few months ago. Ever since then, she'd been poking and prodding and trying to get things done her way. She'd also applied for the same position he had when the opening for the new department head had opened up, which meant things were just going to get worse as of tomorrow when his promotion was officially announced.

"I get what you're saying, Legs, but there won't be any changes to the way things are done until after a new senior keeper is announced," Varric was saying as Cullen helped Alys out of her coat and into the warm green uniform fleece and rubber boots that declared her to be a Junior Member of Staff.

"And when is that going to happen?" Mila asked hopefully. "The big cats are bored, Varric, especially the lions. They need more variety to their enrichment program."

"What's wrong with the current program?" Cullen asked, feeling himself bristle. He'd created that program, after all; it was his baby.

Mila turned her head, dark brown eyes hardening just a little as she met his gaze. They were both prickly around each other, mainly because of their inability to hold a conversation without arguing. "They've been doing the same things for months," she pointed out to him. "Without variety, they'll stagnate."

"The pack engages in each enrichment task with the same enthusiasm as the first time," Cullen countered, unaware that Alys was rolling her eyes beside him for Varric's amusement.

"But they don't engage with them for as long as they used to," Mila reminded him heatedly. "Clinging to what works isn't going to make their lives any better, you know."

"And randomly throwing ideas without any concrete way of making them work doesn't make _ours_ any easier, either," he shot back.

"Looks like they're off again, Copper-top," Varric commented to Alys, moving over to where the little girl was waiting patiently. "C'mon, let's go play with the tigers until the yelling stops."

"We're not yelling!" Cullen protested, pausing to bend and hug Alys. "Have fun, okay?"

"No hitting," Alys countered impishly, grinning when Mila snorted with laughter behind him. "See you later, Daddy."

He watched her out through the door, turning back to find Mila watching him expectantly. He sighed.

"Look, I get what you're saying," he said wearily. "But we have a limited budget, and enrichment needs to be successful or it'll be a waste of time and money."

"So anything I suggest is immediately deemed a waste of time and money without even researching it?" she demanded, offended by the perceived insinuation.

"I didn't ... you know what? You want to argue, go and argue with an orangutan," he told her, shaking his head. "Aren't you supposed to be giving a talk about now?"

She bristled visibly, stung by his tone, which he had to admit could have been a little more polite. It would have been, if she was more reasonable. "You're not my boss yet," she pointed out, snatching at her fleece as she marched toward the door. "It's your turn to deal with Amatus' diarrhea."

Cullen sighed again as the door closed behind her. He loved his job, but some of his co-workers left a lot to be desired. She was so ... argumentative! He knew it came from a real passion about giving the animals a good life in captivity, and yes, she had some good ideas, but she was so _pushy_ about it. That was the problem; Mila _pushed_ all the time, and she often wasn't particularly respectful about it. He was deeply grateful the boss hadn't given her the promotion, but he could see he was going to have to deal with her himself for a long time to come. It wasn't a pleasant prospect.

But he loved his job, even the messy parts of it. Handling humans was just a side effect when you worked with animals. So he pulled on his own rubber boots and headed toward the lions' enclosure. Amatus was the elderly male of the pack, hand-reared after being born in captivity, and his bowels weren't exactly under his control these days, but he was an affectionate old predator. This much was proved when Cullen got to the interior cages, to find Cassandra kneeling down beside the old male lion, rubbing his belly as he rolled like the big softie he was. He chuckled.

"Am I interrupting?"

Cassandra looked up, startled, her expression settling into a frown at being caught being affectionate toward the elderly lion.

"Where is Alys?" she asked, rising to her feet with a last heavy pat to the big cat's flank.

"Tigers with Varric," Cullen told her, taking a look around the cage as he stepped inside. He grunted at Amatus' greeting - the lion heaved himself up onto his feet and rammed his head straight into Cullen's hip, demanding a hello from another old friend. "Yes, all right, hello, you terrifying monster," he said with a grin, rubbing his hand over the lion's head fondly. "Out you go. Time to perform for the animals."

With a gentle shove, he urged the lion out into the enclosure just as the sound of Mila's voice made itself known, artificially amplified via the microphones they all had to use when they gave the regular talks on the animals under their care. Cullen felt his brow settle into a faint scowl at the sound, taking the shovel from Cassandra's outstretched hand.

"I take it you have already spoken to Mila since arriving," the Nevarran keeper said, her voice dripping with wry amusement.

"Why can't she just drop it for one day?" Cullen complained, bending to begin shoveling the muck into a barrow for removal. "One day, that's all I'm asking."

"Why can't you give her more than two minutes and just listen to what she has to say for once?" Cassandra countered with a smirk. "You liked her when she first arrived."

"Before she opened her mouth, yes," he admitted. "But a pretty face does not make a contentious attitude any easier to handle. I prefer a warmer personality."

"Ah, so today's letter was a good one?"

Cullen felt a faint grin touch his face as they worked together mucking out. "She wants to meet me," he told his friend. "Well, _us_. But I won't risk putting Alys in that situation until I'm sure."

Cassandra's eyes widened in pleasant surprise. "But you _are_ going to meet your Dear Friend at last?"

"I'm going to invite her to dinner," he admitted, feeling a nervous thrill erupt in the pit of his stomach. "On Satinalia Eve. I already know she has nothing planned, she told me so herself."

"Oh, how romantic." Cassandra thought she had it well under wraps, but everyone knew she was a soft touch for anything that even hinted at romance. "Alys is happy for you to meet her?"

Cullen laughed. "Alys threatened never to kiss me again if I didn't meet her," he told his friend, encouraged when Cassandra rolled her eyes and offered a huff of laughter in answer. "I think ... it feels right, you know? I don't ... I don't think Rory would mind."

Cassandra leaned on her broom, meeting his eyes with a gentle smile. "No, I do not think she would mind at all," she agreed with him. "You have been alone a long time, Cullen. She would not want that. This connection you have with your Dear Friend ... I think she would approve."

He nodded, glad his friend agreed. Losing Rory had been the most painful experience of his life, bringing back his stress migraines and nightmares with the added responsibility of caring for a grieving daughter at the same time. But it had been almost five years now. Alys didn't remember much about her mother, and though she didn't mention it often, he knew she felt the lack of a mother-figure in her life. Mia did her best, but she was still _Auntie_ Mia, and always would be. If Dear Friend was as lovely in life as she was on paper ... there might be real potential for a new happy ending, for all of them. He just had to take that leap of faith.


	2. Chapter 2

_Dear Friend,_

_Nuglet and I were delighted to find presents in the box waiting for us. You did not have to do that, but I must admit, it is a pleasure to have something waiting under the tree that I truly have no idea what might be inside. I hope that our own gift is as satisfying for you as yours are already proving to us, even unopened. Nuglet also insisted on drawing you a picture of our tree, which you will find enclosed. I am informed that the hand sticking out from behind it is as much of me as she can put in the picture without breaking the rules.  
_

Mila unfolded the picture that had been tucked into the envelope, and laughed at the colorful artwork presented to her. Yes, that was definitely a Satinalia tree, and yes, that was also an apparently disembodied hand waving from behind it. She loved the Nuglet's sense of humor; the little girl was cheeky and warm, a good foil for a father who seemed sometimes to be a little too serious. Her eyes fell on the little wrapped gift laying on the table, her own unexpected surprise from the PO Box that morning. She desperately wanted to look inside, but had promised herself she wouldn't until at least midnight on Satinalia Eve. Laying the picture down on the table, she picked up her coffee cup, her eyes returning to the page in front of her.

_We are crossing our fingers for you in the hope that you get the promotion you're hoping for. I'm sure you are more than capable of handling the responsibilities of such a position, and your co-worker will recognize it sooner rather than later. If they do not, then they are the fool, not you. I have been recently promoted myself; I do understand the pressures of that period between applying and discovering the answer._

_I must admit, however, to a selfish pleasure that comes with knowing you confide in me. Your letters are a joy each time they arrive, not simply for me, but for the Nuglet as well. We were living under a cloud for a long time after my wife's death; I am very pleased to be able to state that your presence in our lives has lifted that cloud somewhat, though it will always be there in some way. Nuglet and I take great pleasure in reading your letters together. She is eager to meet you._

Biting into her toast, Mila grinned as she chewed and read, enjoying the quiet before Josephine, her flatmate, shuffled out of her bedroom and began noisily making her own breakfast. It was a day off for both of them, but Mila was an early riser by habit. Josephine was decidedly not. Still, they had plans to go out and finish the last of their holiday shopping together, and getting into the shops before noon would be nice. But this was nice, starting the day in the quiet and calm, a hot cup of coffee to share with the words of her closest friend.

She couldn't really put into words how important Dear Friend and his Nuglet had been over the last year or more. When she'd arrived in Ferelden, in Denerim, she'd known no one, with no clue as to where anything was or how to get around. Yet some kind person had arranged pen pals within the city for anyone who was new and needed help, and Mila had been paired with an intriguing widower and his ten year old daughter. They'd guided her through learning the transport system, to cafes and restaurants she might like, suggested parks and places of interest she might enjoy visiting. And to her amazement, she had enjoyed all of them. The more they talked in this way, the more comfortable she found herself with her Dear Friend. She'd begun to confide in him, to share her hopes and her worries. He always responded with practical advice, but it was never forceful or ill-meant. The Nuglet sent pictures she drew especially for Mila, and sometimes her careful handwriting joined her father's spiky hand on the pages he sent. Mila talked about her Dear Friend so much, Josephine had finally badgered her into inviting him to meet in the last letter she had sent, and it seemed as though this reply would contain his answer, after all.

_On that thought, I should very much like to meet you myself. May I suggest dinner on Satinalia Eve? I had thought perhaps seven o'clock at Felicisima - if you are amenable to this, I will make the reservation under the name "Valammar". It will be just myself - the Nuglet is spending Satinalia Eve with my sister. I must confess to feeling very close to you, even through this detached medium of communication. There is an intimacy to a letter that is lacking in texts or even a phone call. I am glad to have been allowed to get to know you in this way and, I hope, to continue to know you face to face very soon._

_With the best of wishes,  
Your Friend (and the Nuglet)._

"Andraste's tits," she breathed, her eyes wide with sudden nervous excitement. "He said yes!"

A yawn from the doorway announced the arrival of her flatmate and best friend, looking rumpled but fetching in pink nug-printed pajamas. Josephine wriggled her fingers in a sleepy hello, groping her way toward the coffee-pot.

"And good morning to you, too." Mila chuckled at the lack of response as Josephine poured out a cup of black coffee and inhaled it. "If you manage a full sentence, I'll let you get to the shower first."

Still half-asleep, Josephine slithered into a seat at the table, hugging her mug close. Her dark eyes focused on the picture with a lazy smile rising on her lips. "Another letter from Dear Friend?"

Mila grinned, biting her lip. "He said yes," she told her friend. "He wants to go to dinner on Satinalia Eve. At Felicisma."

Josephine's sleepiness melted away as this information planted itself in her mind. "That is a very nice place," she approved, her smile warming. "So you must write back and say yes, and while we are out today, we will find you something gorgeous to wear to your date."

"It's not exactly a date, Josie," Mila began, but her friend's enthusiasm had been captured by the whole thing.

"Unless he specifically says otherwise, this is a date," she insisted. "And we will make you look ravishing. Not that you do not look ravishing ordinarily ..." Josephine paused, considering this statement when set against the woman sitting in front of her. Tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed, long legs, but unfortunately with a habit of wearing oversized sweaters and t-shirts. She shook her head. "A dress, heels, make up."

"Not heels," Mila objected laughingly, shaking her own head. "I'm not ending the night at the hospital because I broke my own ankle falling over."

Josephine frowned, but knew she wasn't going to win this argument before it even began. "Cute flats, then," she compromised. "The make up is non-negotiable."

"Are you saying I look old?" Mila accused in amusement.

"Not at all," Josephine assured her. "Tired is how you look, especially after work, and you will have been at work. Some days, you look as though a coffin would suit you better than a bed."

"Thanks," was the drawling reply as Mila picked up the other letter she had received in the post that morning. "You're such an encouragement."

"I live to serve," Josephine teased. She rose, fortified by her coffee enough to scrounge around the kitchen for breakfast herself. She tapped the picture lying on the table. "Shall I put this up on the fridge?"

"No, I'll put it up behind my computer," Mila said distractedly, frowning down at the letter in her hand. She sighed heavily, setting the paper down. "I should have read that first."

"Bad news?"

"You could say that. I got passed over for the promotion." Mila scowled, rubbing her fingers through her hair in agitation. "Which means Cullen got it, which means he's now my boss. I have a boss who never listens to a word I say."

Josephine sighed to herself quietly. She'd heard plenty about Mila's co-worker Cullen over the last year; if she didn't know better, she'd suggest her friend just sleep with him and get all that sexual tension out in the open.

"Are you sure you're approaching him in the right way?" she asked mildly.

"Of course I am!" Mila defended herself. "It's not like his way is the perfect way. He should be open to suggestions from everyone else."

"But you did say that he took Cassandra's suggestion about contact time with the old lion into account," Josephine pointed out with deceptive gentleness.

"Cassandra's practically him in female form," Mila grumped. But she did accept what Josephine was saying. "All right, maybe I'm a little - a _little_ bit - confrontational. But what else can I do? He never has time to listen to what I have to say!"

"Do you ever approach him when there is time to talk it over?" Josephine asked sweetly.

Mila's eyes narrowed. "I hate it when you do that," she muttered. "You're my best friend, you're supposed to support me unconditionally."

"No, darling, I'm supposed to guide you to the correct path while being winsome and charming," Josephine corrected her with a fond grin. "You're not doing it properly, then?"

"No, I'm not," her friend conceded reluctantly. "And I get angry and defensive before he really says anything. I can't help it. You know how I feel about this."

"And, of course, it does not help that you fancy him," the Antivan woman added with impish mischief.

"I do _not_ fancy Cullen Rutherford!"

Josephine laughed aloud, sitting down to butter her toast as she watched her friend scowl a little exaggeratedly. "You are allowed to fancy someone who isn't your Dear Friend, you know," she pointed out. "For all you know, Dear Friend is in his nineties and the child doesn't even exist. But this Cullen of yours is handsome, passionate, and has a little girl you like."

"Liking Alys does not mean I have to like her father," Mila pointed out in a prickly tone. "She's a smart kid, and she's fun to hang out with at work. It isn't her fault she has a father who's as ..." She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Yes, all right, he's as fuckable as he is aggravating. Happy now?"

"I'd be happier if you would get some proof of that," Josephine smirked, waving a hand to stave off the protests that inevitably followed. "No, of course I understand that sleeping with your nemesis is not something you wish to do. Even if he is ... fuckable."

"Can we stop talking about how the bane of my working life is also exactly my type?" Mila complained mildly. "I'm meeting Dear Friend. It will be perfect. I already know him inside out, he knows me. I don't care if he's a grandfather, or fat, or ugly, or whatever else you want to scare me with. He's my Dear Friend, and I kind of love him, you know?"

Josephine's smile warmed. "I am very glad to hear it," she agreed. "Which is why you will look ravishing for him, and I am not taking no for an answer."

Mila considered her for a moment. "I should really write my reply so we can drop it in the Post Office while we're out," she mused, implicitly agreeing to her friend's renewed enthusiasm for the day. "I'll do that while you're in the shower. You're staying at Leliana's on Satinalia Eve, aren't you?"

Josephine shook her head, chewing her mouthful fully before swallowing to answer. "No, she has some work meeting or something on that day," she said. "And I have to call my parents in the morning of Satinalia day itself, so we're going to meet up for the afternoon. Aren't you working both days?"

Mila nodded with a faint chuckle. "Everyone else in the department has family. Working Satinalia isn't so much a wrench for me. Besides, they will all drop in at some point. The cats are as much family to them as their humans, elves, and dwarves are."

"I will never understand how you can get so much joy out of looking after animals you can't even pet safely," Josephine declared, rising to put her plate in the sink. "Your elderly lion does not count. He is one good episode of flatulence away from the grave, of course he allows you to cuddle him."

"Hey, be nice about Amatus." Mila laughed. "He's my dude. Best man in my life, that lion."

"That you feel this way about a lion tells me you desperately need to remove your love life from letter-writing to reality," Josephine drawled, her voice warm with affection for her friend as she wrapped her arm about Mila's shoulders. "He will love you, I am sure of it. So write to him; tell him you agree, and you will see him on Satinalia Eve, and let me make you into a princess for one night only. Agreed?"

"Well, I have the early shift on that day, so you'll have about seven hours to do it in," Mila warned her, hugging her friend about the waist. "Sure you can manage an actual princess look in such a short time?"

Josephine snorted with laughter. "If you're very unlucky, I'll bring help," she teased, gently pulling away. "Write your letter. I'm going to take a shower."

Mila felt her smile fix in place as she listened to her best friend slip off into the bathroom, picking up her letter and the picture, and moving over to her desk in the living room. Four bits of Blu-tac later, and the picture of Dear Friend's Satinalia Tree and his disembodied hand was secured to the wall behind it, among several other pictures that had been drawn just for her by the Nuglet over the last year. Just seeing them there made her smile turn to a happy grin as she sat herself down, pulling out her fountain pen and writing paper. This was a good thing that was happening. It was about time she let something good into her love life.

_Dear Friend,_

_Seven at Felicisima, it is! I'll wear blue, and I'll have a copy of Genitivi's Thedas: Myths and Legends on the table, with a yellow daisy tucked into it. I remember that you mentioned daisies are Nuglet's favorite flower and, well, we've exchanged views on Genitivi so often, he seems like a part of our relationship!_

Was that too presumptuous? Was there such a thing as _too_ presumptuous when you'd been discussing anything and everything with a faceless friend for more than a year? Besides, it _was_ a relationship, she reasoned. Every regular interaction between anyone formed a relationship. She snorted with laughter, rolling her eyes at herself. Dear Friend wouldn't think anything of her using that word, she was sure. He was a gentleman.

_Maker, please let him be handsome._


	3. Chapter 3

Tonight was the night. Cullen wasn't sure whether he was hopeful or filled with dread at the prospect of finally putting a face to his Dear Friend. Part of him wanted to take Alys with him, purely to use as some kind of human shield, but Mia had already noticed that flicker in his gaze when he'd dropped his daughter off at her house. He'd been told in no uncertain terms that he should man up by an older sister who couldn't stop laughing at the pure terror reflected in her brother's eyes. She'd then launched into a detailed lecture about how he deserved to be happy, how Dear Friend obviously made him happy, and if he backed out now, he would never forgive himself. At which point Alys had chimed in with a promise never to forgive him either if he didn't go along with the plan. 

Thoroughly told off, he made his way into work, his mind deeply distracted with thoughts of what Dear Friend might be like. Was she tall or short? Slender or curvacious? Blonde hair or brown? Dark eyes or light? He knew she was intelligent and sensitive, that she wasn't a native of Ferelden, but what would her voice be like? Would she be an animated talker, or a shy, quiet sort? And what would she think of him? He was self-aware enough to know that he wasn't a bad looker, in his way, but he could name dozens of bad habits and poor personality traits off the top of his head. Did she really deserve to get trapped into thinking she'd fallen for him? What did he even have to offer her, anyway - a broken man who might still be mourning for his wife, with the responsibility of a daughter to care for? Was that really so enticing a prospect for any woman?

"And here he is, the new Senior Keeper," Varric announced as Cullen made his way into the break-room.

"Ah, so the low-key announcement in pigeon-holes idea was thrown out, then," Cullen drawled, hanging up his coat as Varric pressed his shiny new badge into his hand. "Just what I always wanted."

Cassandra chuckled, patting him on the shoulder before turning back to her bagel. Meal times were odd at the zoo - this time of day, some people were eating lunch, having been in since four that morning; others were eating breakfast before starting their day. Mila was there, too; Cullen could just imagine how she was seething over losing out on the promotion to him. But she surprised him.

"Congratulations," she offered, with a flicker of something that might almost have been a smile. It must have cost a lot to say that to his face.

"Thank you," he responded, surprised that she had the grace to give in so easily.

"Can I ... talk to you at some point?" she asked in a polite tone, seemingly a little wary of initiating a dialogue. "About the enrichment program?"

Cullen sighed, drawing his hand against his neck. "Can you let me settle into this a bit before you start badgering me?"

He knew as soon as he said it that he was being ungracious himself. Mila's almost friendly expression shut down as she stiffened. "Wouldn't want to give my new boss a headache, would I?" she said, just a little bitterly. "Excuse me."

Before Cullen could open his mouth to apologize to her, she was out of the break-room, and both Varric and Cassandra were glaring at him. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he turned to leave the room himself. Well, that went well, he told himself as he headed for the main office to pick up the shift rota and check it over. _You really have to stop treating her like she's an argument waiting to happen every time she opens her mouth._ Never mind that previous experience had proved that was exactly what Mila Trevelyan was, he was her superior now. He should be able to rise above it and give her the same time he was going to give everyone else. That didn't mean it was going to be particularly fun, though. But it didn't matter today. Not even Mila Trevelyan could spoil his mood today.

Tonight was the night.

 

* * *

 

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea. What if she doesn't like me?"

Cassandra rolled her eyes at him. She'd agreed to walk Cullen to the restaurant since it was on her own way home, and he was vacillating wildly between going through with the meeting or just going home to hate himself for being a coward all evening. She hadn't admitted that she was also walking him there because she wanted to get a look at his mysterious Dear Friend herself.

"I am sure she will be absolutely charmed by you," she informed her friend firmly. "You are not an unattractive man."

Cullen rubbed at his neck nervously as the restaurant came into view, pushing his hand hard into his pocket once again. "What if _I_ don't like _her?"_

The noise Cassandra made was all too familiar. "Then you are an idiot who cannot see past the superficial, and even Alys knows that is not true," she told him in a sharp tone, coming to a halt before the steps that lead down to the main door, past windows bordered with snowy frost. "Well now, here you are."

But Cullen was frozen to the spot. He could feel himself sweating, this sudden attack of nerves more acute than anything he had ever experienced before. The restaurant sounded crowded, a cacophony of happy voices laughing and talking that spilled out into the quiet street each time the door opened. She was in there. Dear Friend - the actual person, not the words written on a page - was sitting in there, waiting for him. And he couldn't move.

"See if she's there," he blurted out, panic edging his tone as he met Cassandra's eyes with pleading hope. _Please don't go until we've established that I **am** being an idiot._

"I don't know what she looks like," she pointed out. But that was her only objection, it seemed - the romantic in his friend was enough to make her very eager to be the first person to get a good look at someone who might well become a very serious part of his life. She took a few steps down and crouched to look in through the frosty windows. "What am I looking for?"

"She said she'd be wearing blue," Cullen told her anxiously, hands clenched in his pockets as his feet twitched, trying desperately not to pace in the slush underfoot. "With a copy of Genitivi's _Thedas: Myths and Legends_ on the table with a yellow daisy in it. Like this one." He gestured to the yellow daisy in his buttonhole.

Cassandra raised a brow as she looked over at him. "This would have been easier if you had exchanged phone numbers," she pointed out in amusement, rolling her eyes at his gesture for her to look. "All right, let me see ... Oh, I see a woman in blue. Very pretty ... no book. Hmm ... Oh, wait. Blue dress, book with a yellow daisy ..."

Cullen leaned forward hopefully. "Well?"

"I can't quite see her, the waiter is in the way," Cassandra relayed to him, peering in through the window. "He's moving away ... I can see her ... _oh."_

She paused, and Cullen could have sworn he saw a smirk flick across her face. What was so funny here? Was Dear Friend a bronto in a dress or something?

"Oh?" he pressed his friend. "Please, Cassandra. Is she ... pretty?"

"Oh, very pretty," Cassandra assured him with a smile.

"And?" He pushed a hand through his hair in frustration at the lack of real information she was giving him. "What does she look like?"

Cassandra hesitated for a moment. "She looks like ... Well, I would say she has something of the coloring of ... Mila Trevelyan."

Reminded of his failure that morning to start as he meant to go on, Cullen grimaced. "Mila?" He groaned, rubbing his neck.

"Come now, Cullen, even you have to admit that Mila is a beautiful woman," his friend pointed out, but he wasn't in the mood to have that woman's finer points detailed to him.

"That's beside the point," he complained. "Why are we talking about Mila Trevelyan?"

"I can tell you right now, if you don't like Mila Trevelyan, you won't like this woman," Cassandra informed him, her lips beginning to quirk into a grin as she glanced up at him.

Cullen paused, thoroughly confused. "What do you mean?"

"Because it _is_ Mila Trevelyan."

_"What?"_

Shocked, Cullen lurched down the steps to crouch beside his friend, peering in through the uppermost part of the window. Sure enough, Cassandra was right. Easily visible from here, Mila Trevelyan was sitting alone at the table he'd reserved, dressed in blue, with a book marked with a yellow daisy on the table in front of her. He felt as though someone had punched him in the gut. All the day's tension and anticipation crashed into a juddering heap of crushing disappointment.

"Of all the ... she ..." He flailed for the right words for a moment, and abruptly gave up, rising to turn away. "No. No, I'm not doing this."

"You can't just leave her sitting there," Cassandra objected, rising with him. "At least go in and talk to her."

"Me? Talk to her? Have you seen what happens whenever I try that with Mila Trevelyan?"

"Now, Cullen, do not forget that she is the one who wrote you all those letters," his friend pointed out, but he was too agitated for common sense.

"She couldn't have," he insisted vehemently. "And even if she did, she ..." He trailed off, sinking into his disappointment with a rough snort of breath, pulling the daisy from his buttonhole to discard it onto the slush. "Come on. I'll walk you home."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "You are _not_ walking away and leaving her sitting there all alone for however long she chooses to wait," she insisted, turning toward the restaurant. "If _you_ won't tell her, I will."

"No, you won't." He was ashamed of it later, but in that moment, the thought of Cassandra telling Mila that he was her Dear Friend and that he'd left rather than break the news was more than enough to spur him into grasping his friend's arm and all but dragging her up onto the street. "Better that she never knows. I'll ... I'll write to her, make something up."

Pulled along, unable to get any traction to pull away thanks to the icy slush underfoot, Cassandra scowled at him. "You are a coward, Cullen Rutherford."

"Better a coward than to have that woman think I'm anything more than an annoyance in her life," he muttered, refusing to release her arm until they were several streets away.

He could feel Cassandra's disapproval, but he knew she wouldn't tell Mila the truth unless he gave her permission to do so. They'd been friends for too long to jeopardize that relationship over a misunderstanding like this. That didn't mean she was going to let it drop, however. She berated him all the way to her home, trying to convince him to go back and at least talk to Mila, but he wasn't having it. At her door, Cassandra finally sighed heavily, shaking her head.

"I think you are the world's greatest fool, Cullen," she told him gently. "To throw away something that has made you so happy this past year over something so small as this."

"It doesn't matter, Cassandra," he told her in a weary tone. "I can live without it."

"But you shouldn't have to," she pointed out. "And neither should Alys." She watched that sink in, the conflict rising on his face, and reached up to kiss his cheek. "Happy Satinalia, Cullen. Good night."

"Yes ..." He nodded distractedly, glancing back the way they had come. "Oh, Happy Satinalia, Cassandra."

He watched her into the house he wasn't supposed to know she shared with Varric, listening to the dwarf greet her enthusiastically before the door closed with a faint, envious smile. Glancing down at his watch, he frowned. Half past seven. If he went to Mia's now, everyone would know he hadn't gone on the date. Things would be ... awkward and unhappy, and he didn't want to do that to Alys at Satinalia. But he couldn't go back to the restaurant. He wasn't going to sit there and ... it was unthinkable.

He turned to keep walking, to find some way of passing the time, his mind spinning through his disappointment and, yes, his _hurt_ at this evening's discovery. Dear Friend had been a happy dream for so long; warm-hearted, kind, sure of herself, the perfect foil for his mind in a way he had not experienced since Rory's death. He'd had such hopes ... and now they were all dashed on the immovable rock that was Mila Trevelyan. It was a cruel joke, surely, to suggest that she might possibly have written all those letters. She was argumentative, difficult, confrontational, bold, passionate ... beautiful.

Cullen stopped in his tracks, feeling indecision ripple through his form. She _was_ there. She _had_ written all those letters. And now he thought about it, he thought he could see where Mila Trevelyan and his Dear Friend overlapped. Dear Friend was bold and passionate; he'd learned that in her fiery defense of the books she enjoyed, the books she had convinced him to read that he had enjoyed. Mila was warm-hearted and kind; he'd seen for himself the way the animals reacted to her at the zoo, the way she could hold a group of thirty or more children spellbound with stories that were as much educational as they were entertaining. The way her eyes flashed when she was engaged in a debate wasn't confrontational at all ... it was passion, pure and simple, a passion he had never taken the time to acknowledge. The way she had quickly become a favored keeper to the lionesses in their pack wasn't her focus ... it was the quiet strength, the softness she showed them that he had never seen turned toward himself. And there was the problem. He had never let himself look at her, too interested in keeping things the way they had always been, in protecting his status at work, to realize that she was as passionate about the big cats under their care as he was. And there was one more obvious factor.

Alys liked her. His daughter had never understood why he couldn't hold a civil conversation with Mila, when she had taken to the woman easily. He even trusted Mila to supervise his daughter alone, something he surely wouldn't do with someone he truly disliked. He didn't _dislike_ Mila. Truth was ... he liked her a great deal. Their inability to hold a conversation had just frustrated him to the point where he'd given up looking at her.

"Maker's breath," he muttered, raising his head to gaze, unseeing, at the busy road in front of him. "I am an idiot."

Cullen looked down at his watch again. Eight o'clock. She'd been sitting alone in the restaurant for an hour. Perhaps she might still be there. Did she care enough about her Dear Friend to forgive him being so late?

Turning on his heel, he lengthened his stride, hope beginning to push through the disappointment and upset that had churned through him on that first discovery of just who his Dear Friend was. This wasn't as bad a situation as it first seemed. He _did_ like Mila, and perhaps, when she put the letters together with the reality the way he had, she might like him. There might be more to a relationship with her than endless arguments. At the pace he set, he was back at the restaurant before half past eight, and yes, she was still there, tension written over her face each time she glanced up at the door.

She _was_ lovely, he had to admit to himself. He'd never seen her outside work; never seen her out of the green uniform that was so practical and so unflattering to everyone who wore it. Never seen her with her hair unbound, falling about a face that would be breath-taking if she relaxed a little around him. Never seen her wearing anything that skimmed her form the way that dress did.

Looking in through the window, Cullen felt himself smile just a little. This was it. A clean slate. Just two people, meeting for the first time. _Forget work, forget the arguments that had gone before. Hold in your heart all those letters, Rutherford, and know that the woman in front of you is the one who wrote them, the one you've been hoping to meet for months._

Bracing himself, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, nodding to the maitre'd as he stepped past toward the table where Mila Trevelyan waited. Saw her anxious eyes rise to look at him. Saw the recognition in her face. Saw her agitation harden into something intense and unfriendly. His step faltered as he reached the table.

"Oh no, what are _you_ doing here?" she demanded, dismayed at the sight of him.

For the life of him, Cullen could never quite put his finger on why he did what he then did. In his most honest moments, he admitted it was because she didn't immediately smile and welcome him, despite not knowing what he knew about their connection. Whatever the reason, however, he definitely knew he only had himself to blame for what came next.

"What a charming greeting," he said, deliberately sitting down in the free chair at her table, in spite of her wordless protest. "Is this how you greet every friend you meet outside work?"

"Friend? What _friend_ do you see here?" she snapped back at him, anxiously looking over his shoulder at the door. "I see an obnoxious, narcissistic know-it-all who is apparently not happy with just making my working life miserable - he has to find me out of hours and ruin my evening, too! I did _not_ say you could sit down. I'm waiting for someone, and you are not him."

"Obnoxious?" Cullen repeated, a little shocked to hear himself referred to as such. "Narcissistic? Me?"

"No, I'm talking about Varric," she growled. "Who the hell do you think you are, just inviting yourself to sit down with me in a public place when you won't even give me two minutes at work - a place where, I might add, you're contractually _obliged_ to interact with me, and yet somehow never manage it. Leave. Now."

"No, I'll keep you company while you wait," he offered, leaning his elbows on the table, perversely interested in seeing whether she could be pushed any further. Alys was going to kill him; he might as well earn it. "Unless this is a date, of course, but I didn't know you were seeing anyone. And what's wrong with me, exactly?"

"This ... it's ..." Mila flailed for a moment, her hands clenching on the sides of the table as she glowered at him. "If it is a date, it's a _first_ date, and you were certainly not invited to it." She hesitated for barely a moment, her eyes narrowing. "You want to know what's wrong with you? You're a clockwork templar. If there was any enticement to look beneath the surface, I know what I would find. Instead of a mind, there'd be a time-sheet; instead of a soul, there'd be regimented task forms; and instead of a heart, all I'd find would be your shiny new promotion badge."

Stung, Cullen frowned back at her, barely noticing how she was wincing at her own words. "You're a piece of work, aren't you? Are you sure your date hasn't taken one look at you and already left in horror?"

The way her face fell was something he never wanted to see again. He was used to seeing Mila Trevelyan angry, irritated, frustrated; Void, he'd even seen her smiling more than once. But he'd never seen her look so instantly defeated as she did the moment his low blow landed. Guilt blossomed in his chest, but she didn't give him any chance to apologize.

"Please just go," she said quietly, shaking her head as she looked away. "We have nothing more to say to each other. _Sir."_

Still stinging from her insult, and trying to ignore the guilt at how easily she'd given up, Cullen rose silently with a stern nod, and left the restaurant. He made it halfway down the street before his mind caught up with him. What the hell was he doing? Why hadn't he just told her the truth straight out? He knew academically why - she'd been rude from the moment she opened her mouth. It hadn't been necessary to say any of those things to him, yet there they were, out in the open in all her petty, pushy glory. A perfect example of why he'd been right in the first place. He and Mila Trevelyan got on like a house on fire that the firefighters were never going to reach in time to prevent catastrophic damage.

But ... she'd been waiting for an hour and a half. Waiting for _him_. She was the woman who had confided her hopes and fears in him, who had offered him advice and warmth without judgment. She thought he was worth waiting for. And she was still waiting, because he'd been an ass and kept the truth to himself. He'd sat there and stolen what she thought was time better spent with her Dear Friend, heightened her anxiety about missing him. She'd described it as a _first_ date; she was hoping for more. And instead of seeing someone she trusted, someone she might even care for, he'd presented her with her nemesis from her workplace, the person who never listened to a word she said and who had disregarded politeness in favor of satisfying his own curiosity. The guilt that had blossomed at the sight of her weariness in the face of yet another argument grew in his chest, aching with the knowledge that he'd behaved like a fool and caused someone he cared for pain. He had to set this right, somehow.

Cullen turned back for the second time that night, just in time to see Mila reach the top of the steps onto the street from the restaurant, bundled warm in a smart coat. He saw her stop, look down; saw her crouch to lift something from the slush ... his discarded yellow daisy, thrown away and forgotten in his first initial flare of anger and bad judgment. And he watched as Mila Trevelyan, who never showed weakness if she could possibly help it, fought down an open urge to cry, tucking the daisy into her pocket as she hurried off down the street.

Andraste's flame, he hoped some of the legends around Satinalia had a speck of truth to them. This was going to take a miracle to fix.


	4. Chapter 4

"So ... how did it go? Was he wonderful?"

Mila felt herself wince at the eagerness in Josephine's tone, tucking her phone under her cheek for a moment while both hands were busy dumping the large cubes of raw meat she'd just cut into a bucket. It was midday on Satinalia, and she was exhausted. A restless night had not helped her absorb what had happened the night before, and being one of a bare handful of people working at the zoo today meant that there hadn't really been any time to think over the disaster that had been her attempt to meet her Dear Friend. What was annoying her was that she was lingering guiltily on what she'd said to Cullen. No matter how awful he was, she shouldn't have said those things to him. No one deserved such blind meanness.

"I never saw him," she told her friend, her own voice subdued as she washed her hands of blood and meaty bits.

"He stood you up?" The outrage in Josephine's voice was gratifying, but it just made Mila's heart ache that little bit harder.

"No, I ... it's hard to explain." She sighed, dropping the paper towel into the rubbish bin to take the phone in her hand again. "I was there for an hour, Josie, no sign of him. And then Cullen walked in, and he sat down at the table, and he just ... I was so worried and upset, I just _snapped_ at him." Another low sigh escaped her as she leaned against the counter. "Maker, Josie, the things I said ... I was cruel and mean, and he didn't deserve it. Well, not much, anyway."

"You were anxious about missing your Dear Friend," Josephine reassured her. "But he didn't come?"

Mila shook her head, despite the fact that she was on the phone and Josephine couldn't see her. Taking up the bucket of meat chunks in her free hand, she shouldered her way out of the food prep room to head toward the lynx enclosure. The wind was bitter today, more snow threatening to fall from the sky. A stormy sort of Satinalia - a perfect match for her mood.

"I was there for an hour and half, and no sign of him," she told her friend, nodding absently to a fellow keeper as he rushed toward the penguins with a bucket of fish. "And after Cullen left, I was just ... I was done. I'm not waiting around for someone who doesn't have the decency to show, and ... Oh, Maker, Josie, I found his daisy on the street outside. He must have seen me with Cullen and thought -" She stopped herself before she could wail. She'd done enough crying over this, thank you very much.

"Oh, Mila." Josephine sounded heartbroken on her behalf. "You can write to him. you can explain."

"I don't think I can ever explain this," Mila told her sadly. "I'll be lucky if he ever wants to write me another letter again. I didn't even open the present. I ... I was thinking about returning it. It doesn't seem right to keep it, not after what he must have thought of me last night."

"Don't you dare do that," her best friend insisted vehemently. "Give him a few days! It's Satinalia, for Andraste's sake - he probably has to spend time with his family, friends. He might not have time to write until tomorrow, and you won't get that letter until the day after. I forbid you to give that present back until you're sure he's done with you."

Despite herself, Mila snorted with laughter as she opened up the metal cage door that led into the enclosure. The lynxes were not fans of the snow, but they'd come out for food, she knew. So she had about five minutes to scatter the meat and get out before they came looking. 

"You have a ridiculous amount of faith in a guy that stood me up last night," she pointed out, but she could feel her lips twitching into a faint smile. Josephine's outrage on her behalf was bolstering.

"If he's an idiot who can't see what a wonderful person you are, and who didn't even notice that you were getting pissy with Cullen, then he doesn't _deserve_ you," Josephine informed her, brooking no argument. "So forget about him for one day. Work out how you're going to deal with Cullen next time you see him."

Mila groaned, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder again as she started to toss the meat into the various scavenging places for the smaller of the big cats. She could see curious heads looking through the door to the inner enclosure, enticed toward the outside by the thought of food.

"I'm so tired of fighting with him all the time," she admitted to her friend, awkwardly holding the phone in place with her shoulder as she shoved a couple of handfuls of meat into one of the hollow logs that decorated the outdoor enclosure. "My First Day resolution this year is definitely going to be finding a better way to get along with my boss, or I'm going to have to start looking for another job."

"Well, how about just apologizing for the way you spoke to him?" Josephine suggested. By the sound of things, she was putting her shoes on, ready to go and meet her girlfriend to celebrate the holiday together. "That way, the ball is in his court. It's his responsibility to be the bigger man, especially if you're the bigger man first."

"Has anyone ever told you, you should have been a politician?" Mila asked, her smile relaxing as she emptied the bucket and headed back for the steel door. The lynxes were definitely interested in what might be outside now; perfect to get them outside for at least a little while.

Josephine laughed. "Frequently," she assured her friend. "I have to go, but I'll see you tonight, yes? You are going to drop in for the party."

"That didn't sound like a question," Mila pointed out, locking the heavy door behind her and turning to turn the wheel that would open up the hatch between indoor and out for the curious cats. "I'm really not sure, Josie."

"Then be sure, and come along," Josephine told her firmly. "You should not be alone tonight. It's Satinalia, it's your favorite holiday! Come out and enjoy yourself for once, and forget all about these disappointing men in your life."

Finally, Mila managed a laugh, half at her friend's insistence and half at the antics of the lynxes as they searched for their dinner. "Just promise me one thing," she told Josephine, just as firmly. "No trying to set me up with anyone tonight."

"Cross my heart," Josephine promised sincerely. "Just friendly conversation, no expectations of more."

"There'd better not be," Mila warned her, but they both knew she'd already given in. "Fine. I get off at seven - be there at eight, eight-thirty?"

"Perfect." Josephine squealed happily; Mila winced and pulled the phone away from her ear for a moment. "I have to dash, darling, but I will see you tonight! And have a lovely day!"

"I will, I will." Mila chuckled, rolling her eyes as she put the bucket back in the food prep room. "Happy Satinalia, Josie. Give Leliana a kiss for me."

"I will give her many! Happy Satinalia!"

The phone went dead. Letting out a gusty breath, Mila tucked it into her pocket and moved to rinse out the bucket, washing her hands before pulling her radio from her belt.

"Kitty-cats fed, heading back to the break-room," she announced over the channels. "Anyone want me to put the kettle on?"

There was a pause, and the radio crackled in her hand. "We made cocoa!"

She blinked, staring down at the radio for a moment. That had sounded like ... 

"Alys, is that you?"

The radio crackled again. "Yup, yup! You gotta come and drink the cocoa!"

Another voice chimed in from a different area of the zoo - Sera, from the primates enclosures. "This cocoa for everyone, Small Bits, or just the leggy one?"

There was a pause before Alys' excited voice answered. "Everyone!"

"Brill!" was Sera's crackly response. "Be there in a sec!"

Mila was still staring at her radio, feeling her already churning stomach drop a few degrees and twist. Alys was here; that meant Cullen was here. In the break-room. Where she had just announced she was going. She couldn't _not_ go now - that would disappoint his little girl, and that was something Mila was not prepared to do. But it also meant facing a man she had insulted to his face last night without much explanation or build up. _Happy Satinalia, Mila. Here, have the worst day ever._ As soon as that thought crossed her mind, however, she frowned at herself. _Grow up, Mila. Bigger man, remember?_

Still, it took a certain amount of willpower to get herself back through the runs and into the break-room where, sure enough, Cullen was waiting. He looked different out of uniform, she realized - more relaxed, less wary of even looking at her. He also looked a little nervous, which was only right, in her opinion. Alys, on the other hand ... Mila snorted with laughter at the sight of the little girl. She was about as festively-dressed as you could ask for, all reds and whites and greens, with tinsel in her hair and flashing lights on her sweater, bouncing across the room to seize Mila by the hand and drag her over to the table.

"Happy Satinalia! I made cookies! Look, that one's for you!"

Not given much choice, Mila managed a brief grimace of a hello to Cullen as she was pulled past toward the Tupperware box on the table, her expression relaxing easily for Alys.

"Happy Satinalia to you, too," she answered the little girl. "Aren't you a little hyperactive for midday?"

"We didn't have dinner yet," Alys informed her, opening up the box to select one particular cookie. "This one's for you. I made it special, because Daddy is a humungus idiot and ruined your Satinalia Eve."

Mila couldn't help laughing a little at that, a little touched that Cullen had apparently told his daughter about the evening before and spared no detail. He didn't even seem to have spun it so he looked good. And the cookie was ... something else. It was vaguely tree-shaped, but it was more of a thin gingerbread platform for the abundance of gumdrops and sugar icing loaded on top of it.

"Wow, that looks amazing, Alys," she complimented the girl cheerfully, taking the cookie from the outstretched hand to set it carefully down on one of the plates already out on the table. "And your dad didn't ruin my Satinalia Eve. It was already pretty bad before we talked, but that was no excuse for the way I spoke to him. So ..." She took in a deep breath, and turned to face Cullen.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "There was no call for me to speak to you like that. I apologize."

He blinked, his brows rising as he met her calm gaze directly. The surprise on his face was enough to sting, but only for a moment. Because, to her own surprise, Cullen had something to say himself.

"You had every reason to speak to me like that," he told her just as quietly. "My behavior last night was unforgivable, and on top of a year of my impatience and lack of respect, I am honestly surprised you did not have worse to say. I'm the one who should apologize. I am sorry, Mila. I have been terrible toward you, and I have no excuse for it. I will be a much better colleague in future."

Startled, she stared at him for a long moment, slowly narrowing her eyes as she considered his sincere expression. As much as she'd never got along with Cullen Rutherford, she'd never known him to lie.

"I'll believe it when I see it," she warned. "But ... you're not the only one making our working relationship hell. So, I'll be better, too."

His entire face relaxed into a stunning smile at her words, whiskey-bright eyes warming with what seemed like genuine pleasure at their sudden agreement. She'd never seen him smile directly at her before. _Andraste's tits, he's handsome._ Of course he was handsome, she knew that, but ... she'd never really _noticed_ it before. That smile was something special. And despite herself, despite her still lingering melancholy, she found herself hesitantly smiling back at him, not even glancing around at the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor. She held out her hand to him.

"Clean slate?" she suggested.

Cullen's larger hand enveloped her own, warm and sure, with a touch that reminded her of Josephine's teasing about sleeping with him when she'd first started here. "Clean slate," he agreed with a nod. "So we'll talk tomorrow about the enrichment program. Ten o'clock?"

Her mouth hung open for a moment before she gathered herself. _Wow, that's one hell of a First Day resolution he's making here._ "Ten o'clock's perfect," she nodded, feeling her smile deepen, pleased at this turnaround from someone who had been so set against even hearing her ideas so far. "Thank you."

"Okay, now you have to kiss," Alys' voice announced from beside her.

Mila's head snapped around, finding the little girl standing on a chair next to them, straining to hold a sprig of mistletoe over their heads. A disbelieving laugh escaped her lips as she stared at the child, glancing at Cullen in vague embarrassment, only to find him giving his daughter what could only be called a significant look. Alys looked back with stubborn defiance, waving the mistletoe so it bounced back and forth between their heads.

"It's _tradition_ ," she insisted determinedly. "You have to kiss when you're under the mistletoe, or otherwise bad things happen. Uncle Branson said so."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Cullen asked, his tone more amused than put out. He met Mila's awkward expression with a faint shrug. "It _is_ tradition. She'll never let us hear the end of it if we don't."

"I'll cry," Alys agreed with a firm nod. "Real tears and everything."

"Oh, well, we can't have that," Mila heard herself say, rolling her eyes at the triumphant little grin Alys shot back to her. "Fine. _One_ kiss."

"A proper kiss," Alys told her, silenced by a sharp look from Cullen before dissolving into giggles.

"I think I need to have a word with Uncle Branson," he muttered, smirking a little at his daughter before turning his attention to Mila. "Happy Satinalia, Mila."

He leaned close to her - close enough that she could smell soap and clean sweat, the oakmoss scent that clung to his skin - and very gently touched his lips to the corner of her mouth, not quite her cheek and not quite her lips. And Mila felt herself melt, just a little, her eyes falling closed as she breathed him in, feeling something long ignored deep inside stand up and take notice as a soft ripple of undiscovered yearning washed through every inch of herself. She felt her breath hitch as he drew back, forcing her eyes open, trying not to miss that momentary closeness as she met a whiskey-warm gaze that might almost have been affectionate.

"H-happy Satinalia," she murmured back to him, glad she was close enough to the table to lean against it surreptitiously. That had been ... unexpected.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Cullen said suddenly, leaning back to dig into his pocket, producing an envelope. "This was left for you at the main gate. I thought I'd bring it along, rather than leave it there."

Her fingers closed over the envelope, her eyes lowering to the familiar spiky scrawl of her Dear Friend's handwriting. "Oh! Thank you," she breathed, feeling relief wash through her, along with a painful throb that could only be terrified anticipation. "I ... Do you mind if I ...?"

Cullen chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, no, you go ahead and read your letter," he told her, twisting to snatch Alys off her perch beside them and plant a loud kiss on her cheek as his daughter giggled loudly. "You, little miss, are getting cheekier by the day."

As Sera banged in through the door to demand her cocoa, Mila took her special cookie over to the couch, curling up to tear open the letter and read.

_Dear Friend,_

_Forgive me for abandoning you last night. It was a callous thing to do. Truth be told, I was late, unable to let you know I had been delayed, yet when I arrived, you were in passionate conversation with another man. I must confess, I had a moment of irrational fury and left. I did return, some time later, but you had already left. I feel a fool for my reaction._

_Tell me, who was that man with you? He seems just the type a beautiful woman should be giving her smiles to, and you are a very beautiful woman ..._

Relief overtook her again, wiping away the upset as she laughed aloud. Oh, this was easy to clear up. Dear Friend was human, after all - how could she blame him for a moment of anger and insecurity after what he thought he had seen? So much for the worst day ever. She could rectify this with a single letter; she'd agreed a clean slate with Cullen; she had a cookie decorated especially for her ... 

She glanced up, feeling her smile soften at the sight of Alys ensconced on Cullen's lap, unconsciously stroking her fingertip against the corner of her mouth. A Satinalia kiss, a friend who was easy to forgive, the chance of a better working life ... No, this was definitely a good Satinalia. Mistakes and misunderstandings aside, she had no real complaints. Dear Friend was still her friend. All was right once again.

Now she just had to bury that kiss somewhere it wasn't going to confuse her when she looked at her boss.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at the halfway point! Note - to allay confusion, just thought I'd point out that Satinalia and First Day are a full two months apart in Thedas!

_Dear Friend,_

_I cannot begin to tell you how glad I am that you didn't cut off all contact with me after the disaster that was our attempt to meet. I'm sorry you were put in that position - it was not of my making. The man you saw with me was my aforementioned nemesis, and I can assure you we were not having a passionate conversation. He happened by and decided to join me uninvited, and I feel awful for what I said to him in response. I was worried about you, feeling foolish for having been sat alone for so long surrounded by happy couples and families; his arrival was the last straw. I was cruel, and I'm never cruel. He has forgiven me for it, I think, or at least chosen to rise above it. He was actually the one who gave me your letter. For all that it was a dreadful evening, I feel hopeful that this clash might actually result in a better working relationship. I may even learn to like him - imagine that._

Alys giggled over the head of her teddy bear, nestled close into Cullen's side on the wide couch. In theory, the little girl wasn't well today, but Cullen had a feeling it had more to do with the fact that she hadn't wanted to go to Auntie Mia's when he had a day off. He had a lot of paperwork to do during that time; it wasn't so much a day off as an office day spent away from the zoo. Not that he was complaining - it was a good feeling, to know that his daughter preferred his company to his sister's. He didn't think he was an exceptionally _good_ father, but he did his best. It was reassuring to know that his best was good enough for Alys.

"Yes?" he asked his giggling little girl. "You have something to add?"

She grinned up at him. "She already likes you," she pointed out to him. "'Cos you were nice, and it made her smile. You should be more nicer to her."

"I intend to be," Cullen promised Alys faithfully, squeezing his arm about her with gentle affection. "And no more trying to make things happen faster. You're very lucky she didn't get upset with that mistletoe stunt you pulled yesterday."

"But that was _allowed_ , 'cos it's tradition," Alys insisted cheerfully. "And she blushed, and so did you, and that was funny."

Cullen cleared his throat, adjusting his position a little awkwardly. He wasn't really upset with Alys for pulling that little stunt, though he wasn't sure he should tell her he was pleased about it. There was still going to be mistletoe up for a while at work, and he wouldn't put it past his daughter to somehow manage to maneuver them both under every sprig she could find for the next couple of weeks. Truth be told, he wasn't sure he trusted himself in such a situation. Knowing who Mila was, knowing her as well as he realized he did, caring for her as he was finally accepting ... he wasn't entirely certain he would be able to restrain himself to just gentle kisses on the cheek if they were happening on a daily basis, and he was absolutely certain that Mila was nowhere near ready for him to kiss her properly. She needed a little time to come around to noticing that he was actually quite pleasant to be around, and that required patience from both him and his daughter.

"No more mistletoe kisses," he warned the ten year old at his side, raising the letter to continue reading.

_I was kind of surprised that you know where I work. But then, you do know I work with animals, and I'm pretty sure I've mentioned the lions at least once. You're a clever pair - the zoo is the only place with lions in Denerim, so good detectoring, both! I wouldn't have minded if you'd come in. Security could have radioed me. We could have sorted this minor mess out face to face. A missed opportunity, I think. But on to happier things!_

_I hope you and the Nuglet had a lovely Satinalia! I know you said you were spending it with family. I hope the food and the company was wonderful for you both. And I hope the Nuglet got everything she wished for! I can only name two little people in my life who deserve to have everything they wish for, and the Nuglet is definitely one of them. Can't wait to see what she does with my gift to her!_

"So you're going to have to draw her a picture," Cullen added, with a smile for Alys. Mila's gift to his daughter had been a full art set; extravagant, in his opinion, but very much appreciated by the little girl in question.

"Can I paint her one instead?" Alys asked hopefully.

He chuckled, hugging her close. "Of course you can, Nuglet. You could do that while I'm working out the rota for next month this afternoon."

She nodded happily at this thought. "Can I paint a picture of you and her kissing?"

Cullen winced faintly. "Not yet," he warned. "She doesn't know we're her Dear Friend yet, and she doesn't much like me right now."

"So why don't you tell her the truth?" Alys asked him, in that non-nonsense tone so many children mastered at a young age that was impossible not to respond to. " _You_ said you should always tell the truth, because lies are bad and make people hurt, and you're lying if you don't tell her all the truth, and I'm not very good at keeping secrets."

"I'm not lying, exactly ..." Cullen sighed, trying to work out how to explain this. "Until yesterday, Mila only saw me as the man she works with who doesn't listen and always argues. She doesn't like that man, and if he told her he was her pen pal, she would be hurt and upset, and she would probably never speak to me again. She'd never write to us again."

"So what _are_ you going to do?" the little girl demanded, impatient for the deception to be over so she could get down to really getting to know someone she was very excited to have in her life.

"I'm going to be myself around her," he told his daughter. "Properly myself. No more dismissing what she has to say just because she always argues with me, which was a terrible thing for me to do anyway. I hope that, if she sees me the way I am rather than the way I've presented myself to her in the past, she'll come to like me. She already likes _you - I'm_ the problem here."

"But she likes Dear Friend, and she thinks that it's someone who isn't you," Alys pointed out worriedly.

He stroked his hand over her curls reassuringly. "Dear Friend is just words on paper," he reminded her in a gentle tone. "As much as she likes her Dear Friend and his Nuglet, they're not real, not really. I'm going to cheat a little."

Alys looked at once impressed and horrified. "You're not going to make us sound horrible in the letters, are you?"

"No! No, sweetling, of course I won't do that," he promised her. "I'm going to tell her a little white lie so she isn't distracted by letters for just a little while. To be honest, I'm slightly afraid she might try to feed me to the lions when I tell her the truth."

His daughter gave him the most disapproving look he'd ever seen from her. "It's wrong to tell lies," she said firmly. "And I don't like not telling her."

"Please, Nuglet, just for a couple of weeks," he pleaded with her, trying not to fall into the blackmail trap.

Alys was entirely too good at exploiting that, something he'd learned a couple of years ago when he'd made the mistake of letting her know what he'd got for Rosalie for her birthday. That had been a full month of _"if I can't have/do/eat this, I'm telling Auntie Rosie"_ , and he was determined never to let it happen again. This, however, was one occasion when he thought he might have to let it take its course and repair the damage in the new year.

Alys frowned at him thoughtfully. "You _promise_ you will tell her before next year starts?" she pressed forcefully.

That didn't give him much time, but if he didn't manage to make a good impression in the next two weeks, he was _never_ going to be able to salvage the potential for a relationship with Mila Trevelyan. Cullen nodded solemnly.

"I promise," he assured her. "Even if she hates me for it, I _will_ tell her the truth before First Day happens."

This appeared to satisfy his imp of a daughter. She nodded to herself, squeezing her teddy-bear closer. "Keep reading."

_As for your gift to me, I haven't opened it yet. I still have to call my parents, which is never a fun experience, so I thought I would save it until after I've done that. One thing I know you can always do for me is put a smile on my face. It's been a few months since I spoke to them; I'm going to need that smile afterward._

"Doesn't she like her mummy and daddy?" Alys asked in a curious tone.

Cullen's smile was a little saddened. "Not everyone gets on with their parents the way you do with me, and the way I do with Grandpa and Gramma," he explained. "Mila doesn't really talk about family much at all, but I don't think she gets on with her parents very well at all."

"That's sad." Alys reflected on this for a long moment. "She would of liked Mama," she said eventually. "Mama would of liked _her_."

As always, the thought of Rory wiped the smile from Cullen's face, but it wasn't as painful a feeling as it had been not so very long ago. He knew Rory wouldn't have wanted them to stagnate together in missing her; in fact, if she was some kind of Satinalia ghost, she was probably yelling at him from beyond the grave to pull his head out of his ass and just get on with convincing Mila to like him already. _That_ thought made him smile, even brought a quiet chuckle to his lips.

"You're right, Nuglet," he agreed fondly, touching his lips to the crop of red curls on her head. "Mama would have really liked Mila."

"I miss her sometimes," the little girl said softly, just a little wary of saying this out loud.

Cullen sighed, setting the letter to one side to lift his daughter up onto his lap, holding her close for a long moment. "So do I," he told her honestly. "And we'll probably always miss her. But there's nothing wrong with that. She was a big part of our lives. Without her, we wouldn't have each other. And I will always be thankful that she gave me _you_ before she had to leave. You are the brightest star in my sky."

"Love you, Daddy." Alys burrowed close into his arms, smiling to herself as he hugged her tightly. "I still think you are a idiot. _I_ like Mila."

He chuckled, resting his cheek against her hair. "I like her, too," he admitted quietly. "I like her a lot."

He was lucky to have a child who reflected so much of her lost mother back to him, he reflected as Alys giggled into his chest, squeezing tighter to him. Sometimes when Alys spoke, it was like hearing Rory again. _She_ would definitely be calling him an idiot over this, and rightly so. But he was doing what he could to set things right again. Maybe two weeks _was_ enough time to convince Mila he was worth taking a chance on. He just had to hope.


	6. Chapter 6

_Dear Friend,_

_Please don't take what I'm about to say as some kind of rejection. Unfortunately, I've been called out of town for a month - nothing earth-shaking, just personal. Both I and the Nuglet are perfectly fine, I promise you. It does mean, however, that I won't be in a position to write to you until after First Day. I'm sorry._

_Best wishes,  
Your Friend (and the Nuglet)._

Mila's frown did not abate after reading that letter for the umpteenth time, shoving it back into her pocket as she went about her business at the zoo. It was in such an odd tone, given the gentleness of his former letters. So perhaps he really hadn't forgiven her for that mix-up on Satinalia Eve the way he'd seemed to. Perhaps this was his way of ending things between them, ghosting her in letter form until she gave up expecting answers. Or perhaps he really had been called away. Whatever the reason, it seemed as though she wouldn't be getting any more letters to make her smile for the last month before the new year began. She couldn't help feeling hurt, disappointed. She'd thought that perhaps they might try to meet again soon, but it seemed as though that hope was destined to die. He'd been very preoccupied with his impressions of Cullen, all but grilling her on what she thought of her co-worker in letters of the last two weeks or so. 

But if those questions were designed to get her comparing the two of them, to find Dear Friend in a more favorable light ... she was almost ashamed to admit that they had not succeeded. All his questions about Cullen had only served to make her mind linger on her handsome superior, who was suddenly a much nicer person to be around in the wake of their little dust-up. Almost too nice, in a way, but he still had his moments of frustration with her. Oddly, she wasn't finding those as glaring as she had done just a few weeks ago. He was entitled to feel a little under siege when she picked a bad time to talk to him, and now that he really was listening to what she had to say, she could look back and understand that she had been a little unreasonable in her approach. She was never going to admit it to his face - they'd agreed on a clean slate, and that meant no backsies, in her opinion. Face forward, move on, and try to forget the spoiled child behavior that had put them both in each other's bad books. _Try to stop noticing the way his eyes light up when he smiles and means it; the heat that radiates off him even outside in the cold; the smell of sultry oakmoss and sweet elderflower that lingers after he's left a room._

Mila groaned to herself, taking up the handles of the wheelbarrow she'd filled with dung and various, exchanging a wry grin with Cassandra as she maneuvered her way out of the lions' inner enclosure and onto the concourse toward the back area where they piled up the various excretions into stinking heaps that made the zoo a lot of money in compost and fertilizer. She had to get her mind off Cullen. Yes, he was handsome, clever, funny; yes, he was also intelligent, quick to pick up on ideas and improve them, quicker to give credit where it was due. He was _exactl_ y her type, complete with awkward moments and a flare of temper she had to admit privately she was enjoying prodding every now and then. The way his eyes flashed when she deliberately annoyed him ... She shook her head, forcing her mind off that path. It was purely physical, and physical just wasn't going to cut it. He had a daughter; he wasn't in the market for a quick fling, and to be honest, neither was she. She wanted more than a couple of decent dates and a few orgasms. Dear Friend was closer to her heart than Cullen Rutherford was ever going to be. And if he turned out to be as ugly as sin, well ... She flickered a faint smile to herself. She could always talk him into wearing oakmoss and elderflower, and close her eyes when it came to intimacy. Fantasy was a big deal in pleasure, after all.

Maybe that would be best. Keep Cullen for fantasies. That way she wasn't going to make a fool of herself, or put him or Alys in a position where they might get hurt. He seemed like a forever kind of man - after all, it had been four years since his wife's death, and Cassandra seemed pretty sure he'd never so much as even glanced at another woman in that time. Mila could appreciate that; she admired it. Cullen was not the type to jump unless he was sure of his landing; intimacy just to scratch the itch would never be on the cards with him. So it was just going to be her in this little crush for a while, until Dear Friend got back from his odd trip away and let her convince him she was faithful and true. Which she was. Mildly diverting thoughts of a physical nature about a handsome co-worker did not count.

Said handsome co-worker was by the heaps of dung, emptying his own wheelbarrow, when she reached them. Despite the chill, Cullen was working without his fleece, showing off the play of muscles beneath the cling of his tight green uniform shirt that turned her mildly diverting thoughts into full on R-rated fantasy for a brief moment before she got a grip on herself.

"Room for more on there, or am I starting another poo-pile?" she asked, borrowing his daughter's turn of phrase for the stinky heaps that were like gold for the zoo.

He glanced up, laughing at her greeting. "I think we can probably get one more barrow on here," he agreed, stepping down the icy planks with his empty barrow. "Here, let me."

"I can do it," she insisted - a little defensively, perhaps, but she wasn't sure she could handle watching his back muscles flex again without some seriously inappropriate thoughts racing through her mind. Besides, she _could_ do it; she was as strong as anyone else who worked here. They all had to be, given the sheer amount of heavy lifting they had to do on a daily basis.

Cullen backed up with another smile, his hands high. "Far be it from me to interfere."

She narrowed her eyes at him, despite her own smile, lining up the barrow on the planks. "Are you teasing me, Rutherford?"

"Would I do something as ill-advised as that?" he asked, and yes, that _was_ a teasing lilt to his voice. "You're far too frightening to dare tease openly."

"What about subtly?" she countered with a low chuckle, bracing to push the barrow up the icy planks to the top of the heap and tip it out.

"I think I might be too male to manage subtle teasing," he informed her, watching as she worked. "We of the inferior sex are, after all, only after one thing, and it doesn't often translate to subtlety."

"So get your eyes off my ass," she laughed over her shoulder at him, stepping back.

Her boot slid on the icy wood, there was a moment of terrifying certainty that she’d end up face-first in the steaming poo, and suddenly she was upright again, snatched back against Cullen's chest, wrapped in his arms, as he rescued her from joining the barrow in a messy tumble down the side of the dung-heap. Mila's fingers gripped the strong arms banded about her waist as she gasped, her adrenalin pumping just from the thought of the fall he'd saved her from. The thumping of her heart had _nothing_ to do with the firm chest she could feel at her back, or the warmth breath against her hair. Nothing at _all_. And if she kept telling herself that, someday it might even be true.

"Close one," Cullen murmured, and despite herself, Mila felt a faint shiver ripple down her spine at the softness of his voice so close to her ear.

She swallowed, nodding in agreement. "I, uh, guess I owe you my life," she managed, trying to laugh as he gently released her from his grip. "You're gonna ask for that favor back sometime, huh?"

His grin was doing sinful things to her libido, that much was certain. "It's always good to have a few favors in the bank," he agreed, bending to set her barrow straight again.

"Yeah, because that's not ominous at _all_ ," she drawled, relieved that he didn't seem to have noticed her moment of deep desire there. She was never _ever_ going to admit aloud that being held that closely, that securely, by _those_ arms, by _this_ man, had felt as close to heavenly as she had experienced in her lifetime. "So ... the lions are mucked out. Feeding time pretty soon."

"About that ..." Cullen paused to let her go out through the gate ahead of him, both of them now wheeling empty barrows through the surprisingly plentiful crowd. "I thought we might give one of your ideas a try today. The lionesses are bored with the snow, after all, and Amatus refuses to eat meat off the bone these days."

"Oh?" Mila perked up, settling in to walk beside him as they talked. "Which idea was that?"

"There's a couple of twenty pound venison haunches in storage," he reminded her. "You said something about stringing one of them up from one of the trees, I think? And Alys has been packing partridge meat into cardboard toilet rolls for the last hour, so Amatus isn't left out."

"That would probably work out really well for them today," Mila agreed, pleased enough that her smile had relaxed her entire face. It seemed as though that hour-long talk the day after Satinalia had really made an impact on Cullen, despite it taking almost a month for him to act on it. The important thing was that he was acting on it, though. "The pride's been a little sluggish the last couple of weeks. They don't like the cold. But if we string up one of the haunches and spray it with a scent that carries, they should be enthusiastic about attacking it."

"Sounds good to me." Cullen nodded with her as they tucked the barrows away. "What scent do you think? I was thinking something like rabbit or grouse; hunting scents, rather than investigative."

"Well, it _is_ food, so that makes sense," was Mila's response. "Want me to find Varric to help you set it up?"

"It was _your_ idea, Mila," he pointed out, seemingly surprised by her offer. "You get to help me not mess it up." He pulled his radio off his belt, raising it to let their team know what was up. "Feeding time for the lions in about an hour," he said into the crackling static. "Get them inside in half an hour, it's going to take us a while to get it set up."

Varric's voice crackled over the channel. "Just remember to string up the haunch and not Legs."

Mila's eyes narrowed. She pulled her own radio out. "I heard that," she countered, ignoring the sound of Varric's chuckle over the line. "Shouldn’t you be more worried about me feeding him to the lionesses?"

"I know _I_ am," Cullen muttered, flashing her a warm grin. "Just get the pride inside, please."

"All right, all right, we're doing it, Curly."

As the radios fell silent, Mila glanced curiously over at Cullen. "Why does Varric call you Curly?" she asked, realizing this was a serious gap in her knowledge. "I mean, his nicknames make sense with most people, but I can't quite work yours out."

Cullen looked awkward, one hand self-consciously touching his hair. "He, uh ... my hair is naturally very curly," he admitted. "It's taken years to learn how to make it look less ... well, less like someone's molded a dish of noodles to my head."

Mila stared at him, and abruptly burst out laughing at this mental image. "So that's where Alys gets the curls from," she declared with a grin. "I was wondering about that."

Cullen grimaced with good-natured weariness. "The curls suit her far better than they suit me."

"You see, now I _really_ want to see your curls," she chuckled, following him into the meat store. "I bet they're really soft and springy." Her fingers flexed, imagining pinging those springy curls.

"If I ever get rained on and you're around, you'll see them," he promised, glancing up at one of the hanging haunches. "Unhook it while I lift, would you?"

"Sure." She snagged the two-step to climb up and release the haunch from the hook, confident that he could manage a twenty-pound haunch without much difficulty. "You want to dress it with anything? We're going to have to drill a hole in the bone so it'll hang with a decent amount of strength."

"Knowing those girls, they'll be hanging off it," he agreed, manhandling the haunch onto the counter. "You grab the drill and get started, I'll find that heavy-duty chain and one of the golf carts. I'm not carrying this all the way to the enclosure."

"Oh, you poor baby, having to do all this heavy lifting," she teased laughingly. "Off you go then, I'll do the manly parts myself."

"I do like being a damsel from time to time," he laughed back to her, ducking out through the door in search of the equipment they were going to need.

Mila laughed to herself as she plugged the drill in, selecting the right drill-bit for the task at hand. Who'd have thought, just a few weeks ago, that she'd be enjoying Cullen Rutherford's company? It was practically unheard of. But it was a good thing. With Dear Friend out of contact for the next month, she needed someone she could laugh with. This wasn't such a bad development, after all.


	7. Chapter 7

The snow was falling again in big wet clumps when Cullen finally located the right apartment building, quietly chuckling under his breath at Cassandra's appalling handwriting. The little note she'd left him containing Mila's home address had been all but illegible even _before_ he'd got it wet. And why was he standing outside a Storm Age-era building of gray stone and narrow windows, in the dark, in the snow, pressing the buzzer in the hope that someone inside might let him in soon?

Because Mila was sick, that was why. In more than a year, he'd never known her to take even half a day off because of illness, yet she'd called in reluctantly three days in a row this week. He was worried about her, and for once, he didn't mind that other people had noticed it. Cassandra had taken the opportunity to badger him about telling Mila the truth again, but he'd grown used to her quiet glaring at his back every time he made the object of his affections smile or laugh in her presence over the last six weeks or so. Varric was slightly less discreet about it, but the promise of Kirkwall whiskey for First Day and a mild threat of locking him in with the marmosets who were obsessed with his chest hair had settled that score. Everyone else at work just seemed reasonably pleased that he and Mila were no longer snapping at each other at every opportunity. He could have been brutal in his assessment of his own concern at Mila's illness, breaking it down to a simple sense of impatience and lost opportunity, but even he knew this was a lie. He was worried about her, plain and simple - worried about the health of a woman he was very fond of. 

The intercom buzzed, and an unexpectedly Antivan voice spoke. "Yes?"

A little confused that he'd somehow come to the wrong street, Cullen frowned. "Uh ... My name's Cullen?" he offered, unintentionally as though asking permission to have a name at all. "I work with Mila, I ... Well, I thought I'd come and see how she is."

The feminine voice on the other end of the intercom sounded delighted with this news. "Oh, how wonderful! Mila, get up, you have a visitor! Come up, Cullen - apartment 12a."

"Thank you," he managed, just before the line went dead and the main door buzzed.

Pushing it open with his shoulder, careful not to drop or spill his peace offerings, Cullen paused to stamp the snow off his boots before heading up the stairs toward the middle floor of the building. He had to admit to feeling a little trepidation - he hadn't been invited, exactly. Nor had he called ahead to warn her he was coming. It had been a sort of spur of the moment decision, solidified on the phone with Alys when he'd called to see how her sleepover with her best friend was going. Now it was seven o'clock in the evening, and he was lurking outside the door to Mila's apartment, holding a small potted cactus and a carton of chicken noodle soup, seriously reconsidering whether this was a good idea or not.

He didn't have much chance to worry over it, though. The door opened within a minute of his arrival, revealing the bright smile of what he assumed was the Antivan woman who had buzzed him in.

"Come in!" she declared, gesturing for him to pass over the threshold. "Mila's on the couch - that way. Let me take your coat."

"Oh ... thank you."

A little bewildered by the warm greeting from someone he'd never met before - at least, he didn't think he'd met her, but she looked vaguely familiar in some way - Cullen let himself be stripped out of his warm coat and ushered into the living room, where Mila was visible sweeping an armful of used tissues into a trash can from where she was sprawled on the couch. It was a pleasant little room, really - colored lights still hung for the holidays, two desks set up against the far wall, behind one of which was a collection of hand-drawn pictures tacked to the wall. Alys' pictures, though Mila didn't know that. He smiled at the sight of them, turning his attention back to Mila. She was wrapped up in a fleece blanket, at least two empty boxes of tissues on the floor beside the couch, still in her pajamas - a festive onesie she'd twinned with offensively bright stripey socks - and her dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She looked absolutely adorable. She also looked utterly bemused to see him.

"Hi," she managed, her voice sounding just a little scratchy. "Did something happen?"

"Hmm?" Cullen blinked back to himself. "Oh ... no, nothing's wrong," he assured her. "I was concerned. It's not like you to call in sick, after all." He hefted the cactus and the carton in his hands. "These are for you."

It was Mila's turn to blink as her eyes focused on the plant. "You brought me a cactus?"

He glanced down at it, feeling like an idiot now. "Well, Alys was rather insistent that I should bring you flowers," he tried to explain, "but when I was in the florist, I saw this, and ... thought of you."

Even as he visibly deflated, Mila's face creased into a smile. "Pretty and prickly, huh?" she asked in amusement.

"Sounds very accurate to me," the woman behind him said. "I'm Josephine, by the way, Mila's flatmate, and I am going out." She tapped Cullen's arm. "Make her eat and wash," she instructed. "She has been refusing to do both all day."

"Maker's breath, Josie, I'm not a child," Mila complained, her face flushing in embarrassment as Cullen chuckled lightly.

"Then kindly stop behaving like one," Josephine informed her friend fondly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Eat, wash, pretend to be human while you have a guest. I promise I will make you breakfast in the morning if you are feeling better."

"You're doing nothing for my image here," Mila pointed out with a faint smile, rubbing a hand over her hair and grimacing at the sweaty feeling of it against her palm. "I'm already feeling better, anyway. And you have a date."

"Mila Trevelyan, _you_ are doing nothing for your image," Josephine told her with a grin. "All right, I am going. Have a lovely evening." She shot Mila a surprisingly intense look, glancing between Cullen and her flatmate significantly, before turning on her heel to slip away.

Cullen found himself grinning at the exchange. "She seems ... forceful," he commented, setting the cactus down on the coffee table.

"She was showing off for your benefit," Mila told him, but her voice was affectionate despite the grumbles. "Thank you for coming over. It's ... it's good to see you."

"It's good to see _you_ ," he countered. "And I now have instructions. So up you get, into the shower. I'll make you some dinner."

Mila stared at him incredulously. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." He met her stare with a firm smile. "I have a ten year old, you are never going to win this battle. Give in with grace and save yourself the effort."

"What happens if I try to fight back?" she asked, reaching for another tissue to blow her nose, already rubbed raw by three days of snuffles.

"I may have to bodily pick you up and put you in the shower before turning it on," he informed her. A moment later, his imagination had taken that suggestion and woven it into a mental image of Mila naked beneath steaming water, his hands twitching to touch the imagined planes and curves of a body he'd never really had much of an opportunity to admire. She lived in baggy shirts, this woman.

By the look on her face, he'd slightly boggled her with that suggestion, too. She didn't seem to know quite how to respond. He could only hope she was struggling with the same sort of mental imagery that was currently making him quite glad his sweater hung so low.

"What's my reward if I do get washed up?" she challenged him eventually.

Cullen chuckled, holding up the carton of soup in his hand. "Chicken noodle soup," he told her. "And I brought a packet of Rivaini tea - my sister swears by it for colds." And so did his Dear Friend, which was the reason he’d brought it in the first place. 

"Oooh, I _love_ Rivaini tea," she enthused, suddenly looking a lot brighter than she had done when he walked in. She pushed back the blanket and stood up slowly, obviously used to the blood-draining experience of standing too fast when feverish from the last few days. "All right, Rutherford, you have a deal. I'll pretend I'm human and not a snot-monster from the Void if you feed me."

"I'm honored," he teased, watching as she shuffled off toward what he assumed was her bedroom. _Maker's breath, I hope she has an en-suite._ He wasn't entirely sure he could cope with seeing her wander around in a towel.

Left to his own devices, trying not to listen to the sound of her undressing and setting the shower running or to let his imagination run away with him, Cullen turned to seek out the kitchen. He was momentarily arrested by the sight of several of Alys' pictures tacked onto the fridge door, the bright colors and familiar lines of his daughter's artwork drawing a smile from his face as he recognized pictures from a year ago, when she had first started to draw special presents for their Dear Friend. Neither one of them had suspected that each one had been saved and put in a place of honor, to be seen and admired every day not only by the woman they had been made for, but by her flatmate as well. Seeing them there only served to soften him still further toward Mila. It was getting to a point where she might well be able to make him melt just with a look.

A little hunting found a pan he set the chicken noodle soup to heating in on the stove; the kettle to boiling; and a few minutes of investigating her cupboards found both an infuser and a decent sized mug to make the tea with. That done, still trying not to listen closely to the sound of hot water falling on a warm body in a room not so very far away, he indulged himself in wandering through the public rooms of the little apartment, exploring the place Mila called home. It was easy to spot which of the desks was hers - even without the plethora of Alys' artwork tacked to the wall behind it, Mila's almost trademark combination of mess and organization gave it away. Papers piled high, almost all of it annotated with her own handwriting which, now he came to think of it, looked far more similar to her letter-writing hand than he had ever let himself consider before; a mousepad emblazoned with a picture of Amatus; a pile of notebooks, all with at least some writing in them, one of which was open as though she was in the process of taking notes. He scanned that page curiously, feeling himself grin. Notes on enrichment for big cats in captivity; it looked as though Varric was going to get an earful at some point about extending the program they had for the lions to the other cats under their care.

Back in the kitchen as the sound of the shower came to a halt, he found himself scanning what else was stuck to the fridge - a shopping list, a dentist appointment card, a few photographs. The photographs caught his attention and held it. There were only a couple of Mila herself, smiling into the camera while hugging or being hugged by what he assumed were friends, or perhaps even family. The photograph that really caught his attention was of her flatmate, Josephine, wrapped around a familiar redhead as the picture caught them in a candid moment. He knew that redhead - Leliana Valence, the Nightingale as she was known in various places, and a friend of his for a couple of years. No wonder Josephine had looked familiar; he'd probably met her before, at some party or dinner. And if Mila knew Leliana, she probably had been introduced to Garrett Hawke, too ... and sure enough, there was a picture of Hawke and his unconventional little family, tucked behind a magnet that declared Ostwick to be a place where most people lived with their heads in the sand.

Cullen chuckled to himself. The parallels just kept piling up. Not only did they share interests, passions, but they also knew the same people.

"What's so funny?" Mila asked from behind him.

He straightened, looking over his shoulder to find her looking a little better than she had when he came in - dressed in jeans and a loose t-shirt, still squeezing the water from her hair with a towel. He gestured to her photographs.

"Just reflecting on what a small world we live in," he assured her. "I had no idea you knew Hawke and co."

She blinked in surprise. "You know them?"

"I worked with him for a couple of years before the zoo hired me on," he explained, returning to the stove to stir the soup before serving it into a bowl on the counter in front of her. "We were all much younger and much less inclined to do actual work; everyone was volunteering somewhere else as well as working for the city. I was the first to get the job I wanted, though - it helped that Rory was pregnant, so there was a level of desperation in my interview that Meredith just couldn't resist. How do you know them?"

"Varric introduced me a few months ago," she told him,, braiding her damp hair out of her way before applying herself to the soup with an enthusiasm that betrayed how long she'd been denying herself food in favor of feeling awful. "Garrett propositioned me within seconds, and Isabela laughed her ass off when I slapped the guy. Apparently I passed the test."

Cullen snorted with laughter. "They're still playing that game?" he asked in amusement. "I'm surprised Isabela stays with him, the number of times he's asked someone else into their bed."

Mila raised a brow above a slow grin. "Are you really _that_ naive? She likes to play as much as he does, you know."

"Oh, no, I ... I know that." He could feel his face flushing as he glanced away, one hand rising to rub his neck as he cleared his throat, acutely aware of her grin as she watched him. "I ... well, she tried it on me once."

"Oh? Did it work?"

He could only imagine the look on his face, scandalized but also deeply pleased to see her drop her spoon into the bowl and cackle with laughter, groping for a tissue to cover her mouth and nose as she coughed through her mirth. She swayed on the stool where she sat, her face just a little too pale for his liking. Without thinking, he lurched toward her, placing one hand warm against her back to keep her from toppling over.

"Easy there, Trevelyan," he warned. "I didn't come all the way here just to watch you brain yourself on the floor because you can't handle my raw attractiveness."

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Your raw dorkiness, more like," she countered, her voice rasping as she leaned away from the press of his hand to take up the spoon again. "This is really good, by the way. Where's it from?"

"Circle Foods," he told her, gently drawing away the moment she made it obvious his closeness wasn't required. As much as he wanted to tease her into looking at him a certain way, doing it while she was ill seemed like taking advantage, somehow. "There's not much else they can get right, but their chicken noodle soup is always the best."

"Sounds like the voice of experience," Mila commented, watching as he filled the infuser with the loose tea he'd brought with him, setting it into her mug to steep. "So where's Alys tonight?"

"Sleeping over at a friend's house," he said with a grin. "I don't envy the parents - eight little girls having some kind of belated Satinalia party and all sleeping on the floor of the living room. Alys is going to be fit to drop tomorrow."

Mila laughed gently, careful not to provoke another coughing fit. "Sounds like fun to me," she pointed out. "But then, I _was_ a little girl once."

"Really?" he asked with a certain amount of sarcasm. "You didn't just spring into existence fully formed as you are?"

"Oh, we all know that when the Maker made me, he broke the mold," she grinned, resting her chin on her hand wearily. "So you're all alone tonight, then?"

"Yes," he told her with a faint sigh. "Just me. Ordinarily I wouldn't mind, but ... at this time of year ..."

Her expression gentled as she looked at him. He knew she didn't know the whole reason why he found it difficult to be alone at this time of year, and why should she? He'd never been all that forthcoming about Rory, even to his friends. The two months between Satinalia and First Day had been her favorite, filled with the best of her silliness and playful warmth. The dark evenings without her at this end of the year were the hardest to bear. But what Mila said next _did_ surprise him.

"You're welcome to hang out here for a few hours," she offered, pushing her empty bowl aside. "Not very exciting, I know, with a sickie for company, but we could, I don't know ... watch a movie or something? Better than being all alone if you don't have to be."

Touched, Cullen smiled, nodding gratefully. "I'd like that," he agreed quietly. "Thank you."

"Two conditions," she added, a slightly mischievous look on her face.

His brow rose above his smile. "I'm afraid to ask."

"Don't look so scared, I'm not asking for a lifelong commitment here," she laughed, shaking her head carefully. "Condition one - we are watching _A Muppet Satinalia Song_ , and no arguments. I love that movie, and I'm the sick one, so I win that argument without needing to have it."

Cullen chuckled in defeat. "I can tolerate that one," he allowed in amusement. "It's Alys' favorite seasonal movie, too. I think I've watched it four times already this year."

"Good, you can sing along with me," Mila said firmly. "Two ..." She flushed, glancing down at herself awkwardly. "You're going to have to walk me to the couch," she admitted with uncomfortable candor. "I'm feeling better, but I'm kind of at that point where I could keel over for no apparent reason at any moment. So I'm going to need you to hold onto me."

"Who am I to deny a beautiful woman who needs me?" he countered with a gentler smile, taking the infuser out of the mug. "Do you take honey or sugar in your tea?"

She made a face. "And ruin a perfectly good tea?"

Cullen laughed. "Point taken. Come along then, Trevelyan."

Taking the mug in one hand, he moved to her side as she stood up carefully, making the most of his permission to touch by wrapping one arm securely about her back. And to his surprise, she didn't object at all. In fact, he could have sworn she was leaning into him as they made their way back into the living room, despite not actually needing to. Was he finally making the kind of impression he wanted to make on her? Did she actually _want_ him to be here, to be this close? Maker, he hoped so. Alys' deadline for telling the truth was looming. He was almost ashamed of how much he wanted Mila to take that little confession well.

It was easy to lower her down onto the couch, to dismiss the flush on her cheeks as her fever despite the small smile playing at her lips. And with a small child in his own life, it was nothing to get the movie going. What did surprise him was the way Mila made room for him on the couch, then crowded in close to his side as the music started to play, wrapping her blanket over both of them even as she hummed along to a soundtrack she obviously knew inside and out. She didn't even object when - purely for comfort's sake - he raised his arm to wrap it over her shoulders, resting her head against his shoulder. It felt ... easy, comfortable. _Right._

They laughed together at the funniest parts, the parts that he usually had to force a laugh at for Alys' sake. It was different to watch this movie with an adult who loved it so much. Mila shushed him so he didn't miss the best lines; pointed out the background details he'd never paid much attention to in the past. With her, it was like watching the movie again for the first time. She felt comfortable with him - comfortable enough to point out the little bits she liked best, to laugh at jokes that he might not have laughed at without her company there. Comfortable enough to fall silent ... to fall asleep on his shoulder as the last act of the movie wound its way toward the closing credits.

And that felt right, too. More than right. It was more than comfort, more than friendship. She _trusted_ him enough to be so completely vulnerable in his presence. After a year of an appalling working relationship, Cullen felt a real sense of achievement that six weeks of behaving like a decent human being toward her - of being _himself_ , rather than a defensive stick in the mud - had culminated in Mila Trevelyan asleep on his shoulder, nestled close under his arm, without even _trying_ to keep herself awake in his presence. He felt ... honored, exhilarated, encouraged. For the first time, he felt as though she might actually not hurt him as badly as he was expecting when he finally told her the truth.

Glancing at the clock, he knew he couldn't just leave her asleep on the couch, and prowling her home while she was sleeping was just wrong. Which left him only one option, really. Very gently, moving with infinite slowness, he eased himself off the couch, gathering her up into his arms as he lifted her from her sprawl. She murmured, unconsciously curling her arms about his neck as her face pressed into the line of his throat, the soft huff of her breath against his skin doing highly inappropriate things below the belt. Now was not the time to be fantasizing about that. On soft feet, he shouldered into what he assumed was her bedroom - a tiny space only big enough for the single bed and a large chest of drawers, it seemed, and very carefully laid her down with her head against the pillow. He paused, considering removing her jeans so she was more comfortable, but ultimately could not bring himself to do it. That really _would_ be a violation of her vulnerability. Instead, he drew the quilt and blanket up to her shoulder, his callused fingers stroking over her braided hair as she sighed in her sleep.

"Sweet dreams, Mila," he whispered to her, unable to resist brushing a very soft kiss to her brow.

She whined quietly, rolling onto her back with another sigh, a tiny smile flickering on her lips to tease him with thoughts of what she might be dreaming about. Was she dreaming about her Dear Friend, or about him? The fantasy or the reality? He didn't know. He couldn't guess. But he could hope.

It was only a matter of minutes to fetch a glass of water to set on the chest of drawers beside the bed next to the cactus he'd brought for her; to turn off the television and turn out the lights; to fetch his coat and carefully let himself out, his fingers fumbling to put the chain on the door before he closed it tight behind him. And all the while with a soft smile on his face. It hadn't quite been the evening he'd expected, but ... it had been good.

So close. Not long before the truth came out now.


	8. Chapter 8

_"Uhh_ , this is impossible!"

Mila tossed her fountain pen down on the page, leaning back to rub her hands over her eyes. From the couch, Josephine and Leliana looked up together in curiosity, the redhead reaching to mute the television as Mila sighed in defeat.

"What is impossible?" Josephine asked, her tone touched with just enough amusement that Mila knew she was perfectly well aware of what was defeating her flatmate.

The look Mila gave her wasn't exactly friendly, but she did still answer. "Trying to tell someone you care about that you want to stay friends, via letter," she said in exasperation. "I don't even know if he'll even bother to read it. I mean, _he's_ the one who disappeared on me. What unexpected trip takes two months without any contact at all, for Andraste's sake?"

"The kind you take when you think you might have made a mistake by taking a beautiful woman's attention away from a handsome man she likes enough to argue with on a date night that was meant for you?" Leliana suggested with a mischievous quirk to her smile.

Mila growled under her breath. "Do you guys share _everything?"_

"No one can keep a secret around Leliana," Josephine said proudly, looping her arm about her girlfriend's shoulders as she leaned back. "Why are you writing to him at all? If you wish to stay his friend, then perhaps you should simply wait for his next letter."

"Because ..."

Mila paused. Did she _really_ want to tell two nosy parkers about just _why_ she wanted to write now, of all times? Probably not, but she needed to tell someone. It wasn't as though this was something she could tell Cassandra or, Maker forbid, Cullen. The curious expressions on her friends' faces were difficult to ignore, too. She sighed.

"Fine," she conceded. "Because ... I like someone else, and I don't feel right trying to start something with them if my Dear Friend still thinks he has a chance. Happy now?"

"Someone else?" Leliana perked up, lifting her head from Josephine's shoulder. "Someone I know?"

"Why would it be someone you know?" Mila countered, carefully not answering. She hadn't counted on Josephine's inability to keep anything from her girlfriend, however.

"You _do_ know him," the Antivan woman enthused happily. "She works with him, too. Cullen Rutherford?"

Leliana's brows rose. "My, my, has he finally remembered that women exist?"

Before Mila could answer, Josephine was in there. "He certainly knows Mila exists!" she squealed, her hands moving animatedly. "When she was sick last week, he brought her that cactus and some soup, and stayed for the whole evening. He even put her to bed when she fell asleep!"

"My goodness," was Leliana's wide-eyed response as she sat up. "I had no idea you were so close to him, Mila. Still, it does explain why you have so many of Alys' pictures everywhere."

"Wait ... what?" Mila twisted in her chair, turning the full force of her gaze onto Leliana. "What do you mean, _Alys'_ pictures?"

Leliana blinked, confusion replacing the wide-eyed innocence on her face. "You didn't know?" she asked in surprise, glancing at Josephine, who was also staring at her as though she'd grown a second head. She gestured toward the wall behind Mila's computer. "I would know that style anywhere. She's been drawing pictures for everyone her father knows for years." She laughed quietly. "Someone got her an art set for Satinalia, so now we're being presented with damp paintings as well."

Mila's jaw dropped open heavily. _"I_ got her that art set," she said abruptly. "But I didn't know it was for _her_ , I thought ..."

Her head snapped around to the box sitting underneath the monitor in which she'd kept every one of her Dear Friend's letters over the year. She pulled the topmost one out, smoothing it on the desk as her other hand reached into the pile of papers beside her to locate the last annotated rota Cullen had given her. She laid them side by side, and felt her stomach lurch.

"Son of a bitch ..."

The handwriting was the same. Sure, the rota was a little spikier, more rushed, and less legible thanks to the fact that the biro had obviously been running out of ink, but _that_ was Dear Friend's handwriting. The letter had a more rounded look to it, no sense of time running away, the ink plentiful, but _that_ was Cullen Rutherford's handwriting. Cullen Rutherford and Dear Friend were ... _Maker's breath. How in the Void did I miss this?_

She raised her head, thinking about the disastrous date on Satinalia Eve. He'd _known_. He'd left her sitting there all alone for an hour and a half, and then he waltzed in and pretended like he didn't know she was waiting for _him_. He'd poked her and prodded her, provoked her into saying some awful things that had torn her up inside, and then _left_ her there again, and ...

"What in the Void is _wrong_ with him?" she demanded out loud, twisting to glare at her friends. "He could have told me about this _weeks_ ago, he could have told me at Satinalia! What does he think he's doing, playing me like this?"

"Mila, you said yourself you did not welcome him on Satinalia Eve," Josephine began, but Mila was already shaking her head.

"No, he would have _known_ that I would react like that, he _should_ have told me then and there," she insisted vehemently.

"And risk a worse reaction in a public place?" Josephine countered sharply. "Your temper is not always under your control, and he has seen enough of it in the last year to know that. You would not have done anything but ruined any chance of something more out of pride and ego, and don't you _dare_ try to pretend otherwise, Mila Trevelyan."

"No, I would have taken it better if he'd been up front with me about it!" Mila protested. "I would have been within my rights to be pissed off! I would have -"

"Cullen is afraid."

Those three soft words stopped Mila's rant in mid-flow. She felt her mouth snap shut with a painful clank of teeth to teeth, her eyes drawn to Leliana's solemn expression.

"What does he have to be afraid of?"

Leliana sighed, pulling herself to sit up. "Cullen has not opened himself to anyone since his wife's death," she said quietly. "No one but his Dear Friend, who has been writing him letters that make him smile for the past year. He hasn't shared the content of those letters, but those smiles have become warmer, softer. There is a gentleness in him when he speaks about his Dear Friend ... about you. He has shared more with you in the past year than I would imagine he has shared with anyone since Rory's death. To discover that _you_ are that Dear Friend, a woman that until that moment he had shared nothing but sharp words and disrespect with ... that is enough to make anyone afraid. Are you his Dear Friend, who knows him and trusts him? Or are you his co-worker, who argues and dislikes him on principle?"

Mila's mouth worked silently for a moment, that prideful ego Josephine had accused her of having twisting on the hook Leliana had just caught it on. But Leliana wasn't finished.

"Violence took the only woman he has ever loved away from him," the redhead continued, still in that soft, nonjudgmental tone. "He grieved for a long time, wrapped himself in his pain and loss. Until he opened himself to you, and allowed his daughter to do the same. Now he is afraid of losing everything you have built together over the last year in the clashing of tempers and egos you have excelled at together. Far better to keep the secret and never take the risk, than to feel the pain of loss all over again."

Well, that took the wind out of Mila's sails somewhat. More than somewhat. How could she feel angry over a natural reaction to a natural fear? She knew the basics of what had happened to Cullen's wife - that Rory had been unfortunately caught up in an attack on the hospital by Imperialist fanatics four years ago, and was counted among the casualties of the atrocities committed there before the situation was contained. He'd never spoken about it, and she'd never had the heart to ask. How did you bring up such an awful moment in someone's life? Seen in that light ... it was no wonder he hadn't told her the truth.

"But ... if he's not going to take the risk, why change the way he is with me?" she asked, her tone far calmer as she considered this. "He's ... we haven't argued in weeks. He's ... he's become a friend, a _good_ friend. Someone I ..." She sighed, fighting to get the words out. "Someone I was going to break up with my pen pal to try and be with, if I could."

Proving that she knew her girlfriend rather better than most people did, Leliana got her hand over Josephine's mouth before the squeal could erupt and derail the conversation. She met Mila's eyes with absolute sincerity.

"He likes you," she told Mila firmly. "He's mentioned you several times; Alys talks about you. Mila, Cullen is not the kind of man to play a game just to hurt you. He is testing the waters, trying to discover if he has any chance of the relationship becoming more than a fantasy on paper with the reality of a woman he knows better than anyone else. But I know my friend. He will be fearful of telling you the truth - fearful that you will reject him, that he will lose not only the chance for love but also the friendship you have developed together in these past weeks. He is not a man who takes risks with a light heart. But he is a man who commits with everything he has to what he truly desires. You could not ask for a better man to love you."

She lowered her hand from Josephine's mouth with a gentle smile, brushing a kiss to her lover's cheek. "You can squeal now."

Josephine laughed, shaking her head. "I think you have melted my heart a little instead."

Mila rubbed a hand over her forehead, dragging her fingers through her hair. She could understand that; she felt it herself. A shock though it was to discover that the two men she felt deepest for were in fact one and the same, she could easily relate to the fear of losing everything in a flare of temper. The fear was real.

She _was_ attracted to Cullen - dear Maker, was she attracted to him - but more than that ... knowing that he was the same man she had been sharing letters with for so long drew her in further. He was the kind, compassionate friend who had helped her to find an apartment, who had given her written tours of her new city. He was the sympathetic ear who had given her advice on how to deal with her stubborn co-worker, as well as the stubborn co-worker himself. He was a loving father, a widower who longed to be loved again, a man who wasn't ashamed to be a little vulnerable when engaging with someone he trusted. He was a friend who had calmed her fears by letter, and who had cared for her physically when she was sick. He had gone out of his way so many times for her over the past year, the past weeks. The implication was there, out in the open now, something she had been trying to deny when the reality was just a fantasy on paper. She loved him. _All_ of him, as much the stubborn annoyance as the sensitive wish. And that was just a little bit terrifying.

"So what do I do?" she asked, feeling just a little helpless in the face of the same fears Cullen had obviously been trying not to confront for the last month or more.

"Tell him, Mila," Josephine told her with a fond smile. "You care for him; he cares for you. Just tell him the truth, get past it."

"It's not as easy as that, Josie," Mila tried to argue, but Leliana interrupted with a bright smile of her own.

"I agree with Josie," she said confidently, a flicker of mischief in her eyes. "With one alteration. Give him reason to hope first. _Then_ tell him."

"What do you mean by giving him reason to hope?" Mila asked suspiciously. Leliana's playful schemes were rarely as obvious as they seemed. 

The redhead laughed at the level of wariness in her expression. “You care for him, don’t you?” she asked. “You don’t want revenge, but the promise of what you have been hoping for?”

Mila hesitated, not really wanting to tell anyone but Cullen first what she felt for him. “Of course I care for him,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s ... he’s important to me. Him _and_ Alys.”

"Well then, you have license to flirt with him, to show an interest in him," Leliana pointed out. "Perhaps even to tell him about your pen pal, give him opportunities to tell you the truth. It is doubtful that he will simply tell you spontaneously - when that comes, he will have planned it in advance. But knowing now what you know, knowing that he has kept it from you ... use what you know about him to draw him in further."

"Oh! You could ask him to Hawke's Last Day party!" Josephine suggested excitedly. "He knows Hawke, after all, and there will be plenty of people you both know there. Perhaps he has even been invited himself already? Make the first move, Mila, you know you can."

Mila leaned back in her seat, her attempted letter to the now unmasked Dear Friend completely forgotten as a slow, wicked smile curved her lips, brightening the sparkle in her eyes. "That ... is fantastically sneaky," she mused, eyeing the pair on the couch in front of her as she tapped her fingers against the arm of her chair. "I love it. I do solemnly swear not to make things worse."

Josephine's eyes narrowed, her turn to be suspicious. "What do you mean by _worse?"_ she asked warily.

Mila flashed her a grin. "He wants to test the potential for a relationship, right?" she pointed out, encouraged when Leliana nodded with a grin of her own. "I'll just have to give him the relationship experience without any of the fun physical parts for a week. I wonder if Alys can keep a secret?"

Leliana snorted with laughter. "Yes, she can definitely keep a secret for a week," she confirmed. "I've tested that theory before myself. And she will enjoy keeping this one, so long as you follow through on telling the truth."

"Oh, I will," Mila promised, her mind spinning with sheer delight at the prospect of the week ahead of her. "This is going to be fun."


	9. Chapter 9

Something had changed. Cullen just couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

It wasn't as though the routine had changed, either at work or at home. With First Day approaching, complete with its variations in the rota to allow those who had worked Satinalia to have First Day free, he had his new responsibilities thrust upon him somewhat, having to work out that rota, sign the leave requests and pay slips, meet with the board to confirm his promotion. That should have been distraction enough. But no. He was finding Mila Trevelyan _incredibly_ distracting this week.

Whether it was his being so aware of her when she walked into a room, or the simple fact that his daughter's deadline was approaching fast and he was battling true terror at the thought of confessing his deception, he couldn't tell. All he really knew was that this new _awareness_ of a woman who could make his heart shudder with a smile was messing with his ability to hold more than one thought in his head at a time. And Maker's breath, that _smile_. The way her dark eyes lit up when she looked at him these days; the way her expression warmed, her whole being seemed to soften; the way she said his name ... was that what had changed? Was it worth daring to hope that she'd decided to focus her attention on him, rather than the pen pal that had inexplicably abandoned her?

"Daddy?"

"Mmm?"

Cullen looked up from his paperwork. He'd set himself up in the break-room to work on the staff rota for the first quarter of the new year coming, ostensibly because it was warmer in there than in his office, and better for Alys to be somewhere people were constantly moving in and out of. In all honesty, he was here because of ...

"Do you think Mila has a nice bottom?"

Cullen jerked sharply, dragging his eyes away from the shapely posterior he'd been absently focused on for the last Maker-knew how long just before Mila looked over her shoulder at him, that sinfully sweet smile rather wicked as she raised her brows.

"Why would you ask me that, Alys?" he asked, attempting to seem innocent. He knew as soon as he said it, however, that it had been a bad call. Alys had not yet learned tact.

"Because you keep staring at her bottom," his daughter pointed out with a grin that only grew when Mila laughed. "So you must think she has a nice bottom."

"You _have_ been watching it move about for a while, Cullen," Cassandra added from the other side of the room, her own smile a little more teasing than he was entirely used to.

"Maker's breath, Cassandra, don't encourage her," he protested, trying to ignore the multiple grins pointed at him from the current inhabitants of the break-room. He was just lucky Varric wasn't here, he supposed; _that_ would have been much worse.

"I have to admit, I'm curious," Mila commented in a teasing tone of her own, twisting to look over at him more comfortably. "I'd quite like to hear this answer."

Cullen felt his mouth working silently as he tried to think of some way to save himself from what he knew was going to be the inevitable embarrassment of either pretending ignorance or admitting his distraction. And since both Alys and Cassandra had so kindly pointed out the focus of that distraction ... He sighed, rubbing a hand over his neck.

"Yes, Alys, Mila has a lovely bottom," he heard himself say, feeling his skin flush with bashful awkwardness. But he was determined to come out of this with at least some dignity, raising his eyes to meet Mila's smiling gaze with defiance. "What I've seen of it, anyway."

The woman in question laughed again, that rich warm sound Cullen could have sworn he'd started hearing in his dreams this week. "If you want a better look, you only have to ask."

The explosion of laughter from Cassandra on the other side of the room told Cullen all he wanted to know about the look on his face. Even Alys was giggling, abandoning her little project to pad over and pat his hand gently.

"S'okay, Daddy," she assured him. "I don't mind if you want to look at Mila's bottom some more."

"Can we please stop talking about Mila's bottom?" he asked helplessly.

The question was badly timed - Sera had just walked in. Never one to resist the opportunity presented to her, the cheeky elf snickered at her welcome, stepping smartly over to Mila to squeeze said backside just for the hell of it.

"Softer than it looks, yanno," she informed the room in general, cackling with laughter as Mila batted her hands away.

"No touchy-touchy!" Mila laughed with her, handing over a cup of coffee to the bright-eyed elf in charge of the small primates. "Did you manage it?"

Sera grinned over the rim of her cup. "All settled," she agreed mysteriously. "Small Bits should get the full treatment."

"Of what?" Alys demanded in a curious tone. She knew her own nicknames among the staff at the zoo, after all.

Mila flashed her a cheerful smile. "Oh, a little bird told me you were interested in seeing the orangs up close," she said casually, not even glancing at Cullen as he grinned. He wasn't exactly a _little_ bird. "I might have called in a couple of favors."

Alys' eyes were wide. "I can see the orange monkeys?" she asked breathlessly, excitement rolling off her as she bounced on her toes. "Up close? Like touching and everything?"

Mila chuckled. "Sure," she nodded. "If your dad says it's all right, we could go right now. I'm still on break for another twenty minutes, and Bull won't let anything bad happen to you with them when I have to get back to it."

At that point, Cullen found his face captured by two small hands squishing his cheeks between her palms as Alys looked into his eyes hopefully. He could only imagine how ridiculous he looked, judging by the poorly concealed snickers coming from Sera as she made her own lunch.

"Can I, Daddy? Please, please, _please?"_

He laughed, pulling her little hands away from his face to kiss her fingers affectionately. "If you promise to do everything Bull tells you to," he bargained with Alys. "Just because they don't have claws, it doesn't mean they're not dangerous if you don't approach them in the right way."

"But they're cuddly," the little girl began to complain, but to Cullen's surprise, Mila had his back on this one.

"No, sweetie, they're not," she told Alys, moving to join them. "They're wild animals, even if they do have to live in captivity. They're strong, much stronger than humans - that's why Bull is their keeper. If one of the males decided to grab hold of you, he could break your arm or your leg, and that wouldn't be fun, would it?"

Alys shook her head, sighing. "But if I stay with Bull, I can go see them and maybe shake hands or something?" she asked hopefully.

Mila's expression gentled. "That's the idea, kiddo."

"Okay!" Just like that, Alys' enthusiasm returned, and again Cullen was on the receiving end of that hopeful gaze. "Please, Daddy?"

He chuckled at her cheerful plea. "I'm still waiting for that promise."

"I promise I will do everything Bull tells me to do and I won't poke the orange monkeys," the little girl declared in a singsong voice, wiggling her little finger in his direction.

Despite the sheer inanity of being asked to join a pinky-swear in front of his colleagues, Cullen wrapped his little finger about Alys' without a second thought, squeezing gently as she beamed up at him.

"All right," he conceded, laughing when she let loose a loud cheer and threw her arms around his neck for a tight hug. "Go, have fun!"

"I'm goin'!"

There was something very endearing about the way Mila let Alys seize her hand and drag her toward the door, the two of them very natural together as they slipped out of sight. _Very_ natural, he realized. They'd spent so much time together over the past year without knowing who they were to one another, and despite his animosity toward Mila and hers toward him, she had never let it colour her friendship with his daughter. How had he not seen that?

"You are staring again."

Cullen blinked, his head snapping around to look toward Cassandra with vague irritation. "I have not been staring," he protested quietly. "I've just been ... looking in that direction while thinking."

"Thinking about what's at the top of Legs's legs," Sera agreed with another cackle of laughter, taking her sandwich and coffee back out through the door. She never actually ate in the break-room, preferring to go and sit with her marmosets over the people she worked with.

"I wasn't -"

"Cullen." Cassandra's voice was surprisingly gentle. "Don't you think it is about time you told Mila the truth? It is clear that she likes you very much, just as you are. Surely the revelation will not be so very dreadful now you have made this connection."

Cullen sighed, leaning forward onto his elbows. "It's harder than it seems, Cassandra," he told her regretfully. "I ... I like her. _Alys_ likes her. But what if telling her the truth destroys that? What if I all end up doing is hurting myself and two people I care about? That isn't so very hard to understand, is it?"

His friend frowned, her expression thoughtful. "She is not so unforgiving as you seem to think," she reminded him. "She has certainly forgiven you for a year of grumpiness, as you have forgiven her. I do not think the risk is so huge as you are allowing yourself to believe."

"But still a risk," he said in an unhappy tone.

Cassandra sighed, rising to her feet. "I do not know what to tell you," she said softly. "I see you enjoying her company; I see Alys enjoying her company. I see that you seem to make one another happy. But I also see you holding her at arms' length, keeping your shield up at all times. That is a sure way never to be hurt, yes. But it is a certain way never to be loved, either." She squeezed his shoulder gently. "Perhaps it is time to lower your shield, Cullen."

"Perhaps." He managed a faint smile for his friend, patting her hand. "I'm working toward it, Cassandra," he promised in a low tone. "Just ... just give me time."

She nodded, letting the subject go at that. Cullen was relieved when she left the break-room, able to turn his attention back to the rota in front of him, grateful for the distraction from those worrying thoughts that urged him into making a leap he was not certain he was ready for. Wrangling names and dates into some kind of fair distribution across four months of duty shifts was more than enough to keep him enthralled for a couple of hours, at the very least, in his own little world, unaware of the comings and goings of shift changes and coffee breaks happening in the same room.

Until a slender hand found his shoulder, and a fleece-covered chest leaned against his other shoulder from behind, urging him out of his scowling at the rota to look up and find Mila leaning over him, setting a fresh cup of coffee and an elfroot tablet down on the table by his hand. She was so _close,_ he could see the smudge of dirt on her neck below her ear, flecks of hay caught in her hairline at her nape, smell the elfroot lotion she used on her hands overlaying the honest sweet musk of her clean sweat ... caught her smiling eyes with the quiet horror of a man who knows he's been caught staring. Her fingers flexed gently on his shoulder.

"You look like you're brewing a headache there," Mila commented in a soft tone, her own eyes scanning the draft rota in front of him. "Can I help?"

Swallowing, Cullen dropped his eyes to the page on the table. "I don't know, can you? I know there's a mistake somewhere here, but I've been looking for an hour and still can't find it."

It was embarrassing how quickly her hand fell to tap gently against the column for Wintersend. He knew before she spoke what the mistake had been.

"Zoo's closed on that day," she pointed out, her smile audible in her voice. "You've put a full crew on for a half-crew day."

"That does explain the problem." He nodded wearily, almost regretting his agreement when she drew away to slide down into a seat beside his. Missing the gentle pressure of her against his back, the strange sense of intimacy within boundaries that had become normal over the past week. Was _that_ what had changed?

She watched as he made the correction, her hands tucked about her own cup. "Alys tells me you're on your own for Last Day," she said conversationally. "Something about staying at her grandparents'?"

Cullen let out a huff of laughter as he leaned back in his seat, gratefully swallowing the elfroot tablet with a swig of coffee. "They claimed her from me with the promise of staying up past midnight," he told Mila in amusement, shaking his head. "And since I'm working First Day morning, I thought it wouldn't do any harm."

She seemed to consider him for a moment, a flicker of something wary that might almost have been fear showing in her dark eyes very briefly before she shrugged one shoulder. "Well, it's no fun to be alone on the last night of year," she said in a casual tone. "Would you like to spend it with me? I have a party to go to but, uh ... well, no one to go with."

He stared at her. _Did she just ...?_ "Isn't that rather a waste of an invitation?"

Mila snorted with laughter. "I don't consider it a waste to invite someone I like spending time with to come and ring in the new year with me."

 _She did. She asked me out._ And despite the wariness, the nerves, the fear, Cullen heard his answer make itself known aloud before his caution could veto it. "I'd love to," he told her, his lips quirking into a smile that she echoed with startling warmth. "Shall I pick you up at eight?"

She nodded slowly. "Make it nine," she suggested. "I'm working the overlap shift - won't be home until seven. There's all sorts of things a woman has to do to make sure people in public don't realize she does anything but bathe in jasmine and sing princess tunes all day, you know."

Cullen chuckled, his own head bobbing in agreement. "I shall endeavor not to arrive before you have done all that you feel necessary to do to yourself," he assured her, "though you don't need to do any of it."

"Oooh, listen to the charmer," she laughed teasingly, leaning back in her own seat with a comfortable smile. "We should have a good time. Just leave the stick up your ass by the door before you leave home."

"Only if you leave the twisted panties in the dresser before you leave home," he heard himself counter, suddenly torn between guilt and amusement at how easy it felt to tease her in return.

Mila let out a burst of laughter. "You've got a deal, Rutherford," she assured him. "No panties, no stick. Should be a fun evening."

The wink she sent his way was enough to derail his thoughts yet again. _No panties ... Maker's breath. How in the Void am I supposed to concentrate on work now?_


	10. Chapter 10

Hawke's party was audible at street level by the time nine o'clock on Last Day rolled around - pretty impressive, for a party taking place on the penthouse level of a seven storey building in a fairly busy part of town. Thankfully, however, this was something of a trick; when Mila and Cullen reached the penthouse, it was not that much louder than it had been below. Hawke was obviously doing something devious with his sound equipment to annoy the Stannards on the other side of the street, who were having a far more staid Last Day celebration and kept glaring from their balcony at his gathering.

"You came!"

Mila felt her grin rise at that rather tipsy declaration, her coat not even undone before Garrett Hawke enveloped her in an embrace that definitely involved more wandering hands than she usually allowed. Laughing, she slapped his wrists as he let her go, aware that Cullen was getting the same treatment from Isabela just behind her. 

"Not yet, but the night _is_ still young, Hawke," was her response as she pushed her present into his hands - a bottle of Ostwick brandy being re-gifted; her parents' Satinalia present to her that she neither wanted nor cared to keep.

"Oh, you always bring me the best booze," he declared cheerfully, kissing her cheek a little too enthusiastically to cover his next words. "Did you really get Cullen Rutherford to come to a party at my place?"

"Looks like it, doesn't it?" Mila told him, a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes at the admiration in his expression.

"You do know this is a party, not a funeral," she heard Isabela say, turning to find Hawke's lover looking Cullen critically up and down.

She'd divested him of his coat and scarf, and apparently didn't approve of his chosen attire for the evening. Mila had to admit, as gorgeous as that dark suit made him, it _was_ a little formal for an end of year party. She chuckled, batting Isabela's hands away from her date.

"Hands off, Rivaini," she told the woman, earning herself a hearty laugh in answer from Isabela, and a grateful look from Cullen. "You're going to overheat," she informed him solicitously, taking the opportunity to do something she wasn't entirely sure he was going to allow.

As it was, he visibly gulped when she undid his tie, removing it to slide the formal jacket from his shoulders, showing off the cling and fall of his shirt over a chest and arms that had been haunting her for quite some time.. As his hand rose to rub at his neck in embarrassment, she undid the top two buttons of his shirt, somehow resisting the urge to run her palms down his chest, and turned her attention to undoing his cuffs so she could roll his sleeves up a little. Admiring her handiwork, she let her fingers linger against his a moment longer than necessary, flashing him a teasing, wanting smile as she stepped back.

"That's better."

"Much better," Hawke agreed in approval, never one to resist the opportunity to ogle a pretty face and form.

Cullen rolled his eyes at their friend. "My face is up here, Hawke," he said, his cheeks rosy as much from awkward embarrassment as from the chill they had come in from.

"And it's a beautiful face," Hawke assured him, patting his cheek a little harder than was entirely necessary. "Shame it's already been claimed."

"What?"

Even flinching away from the unwelcome contact, Cullen managed to look confused until Hawke nodded toward Mila. He followed that gaze, finding Isabela removing his companion's coat to reveal ... 

Cullen felt his mouth go dry. The blue dress on Satinalia had been lovely, but tonight Mila wore deep pink. Sleeveless, full skirted, heels that lifted her to just a little above his own height; she looked at once a picture perfect princess and the playful woman he had come to care for so deeply, her dark hair falling in soft waves about the face of his laughing friend and his teasing temptress. He couldn't be sure what his expression had morphed into, but it certainly had an interesting effect. For the first time since he'd known her, Mila Trevelyan met his eyes and blushed at the raw expression there, returning to his side as though staking her claim. A claim he was not going to argue with; he'd never wanted so much to be claimed by anyone as he wanted her to do it right now.

"So ... drinks?"

"Maker, _yes_ ," Mila agreed in relief, laughing when he chuckled at the tone in her voice.

She didn't even mind when he took her hand, gently curling her fingers to the crook of his arm to lead the way through the mingling crowd of familiar and unfamiliar faces. She didn't mind that he stuck close to her side as the warm combination of alcohol and friends worked their magic, relaxing the stiffness in his shoulders and her back until they were laughing together at the antics of some among them. She ignored Varric's suggestive comments when he discovered they'd arrived together; shared a knowing wink with Cassandra behind Cullen's back. She also made certain to "innocently" interrupt Cullen every time he started to speak seriously - she'd plotted with Alys to make sure this evening actually happened; she was damned if she was going to let him spoil her plan by revealing he was her Dear Friend before she was ready for it. A Last Day party was not exactly the romantic setting he might have chosen, but it was _her_ setting, and she was going to stick with her plan if it killed her.

Which meant dancing with anyone who asked, but always returning to Cullen when the dance was over. Innocent touches to his hand, his arm, his back; standing closer than was entirely necessary to hear and speak; making the most of the opportunities offered by Hawke's terrible decor to maneuver Cullen under the plethora of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, just to tease the corners of his mouth with soft kisses. Teasing herself as much as him, it seemed. As the night drew on toward midnight, he seemed to catch onto her game, returning the favor in his own way - the warmth of his hand against the small of her back, his breath against her neck as he spoke into her ear, the twinkle of something knowingly teasing in his eyes when she accepted yet another invitation to dance, his fingers stroking her own as he handed her a fresh drink when she returned.

"So, my leggy beauty," Garrett drawled over her shoulder at around half eleven. "One last dance before you decide who you're kissing at midnight?"

Mila laughed, tilting her head back to look at him, aware that Cullen's smile had faded in light of Garrett's less-than-subtle flirtation. "I've already decided, but you can have a last dance before it happens," she informed her friend, her fingers curling to Cullen's in a gentle squeeze before Hawke hustled her into the middle of the swaying crowd.

Cullen sighed into his drink. He'd been _so_ close, _so_ many times. He'd almost told her so many times, but there was always someone else to talk to, another mistletoe kiss to derail his mind, the distraction of her smile to make his will falter. Alys was going to kill him. He'd promised to tell Mila the truth before the new year began, and here he was, about to break that promise. He'd _never_ broken a promise to his daughter before.

"You look like you swallowed a cactus," a voice drawled by his side - Isabela, leaning comfortably against the wall, watching with him as Garrett gyrated without much coordination around a laughing Mila. "He's not _that_ interested in her, you know. She turned him down flat when he asked the first time."

"She's not mine to prevent from changing her mind," Cullen murmured back to the woman. He wasn't _jealous_ , exactly. More ... envious of the ease with which Garrett could insert himself into such closeness with anyone.

Isabela rolled her eyes. "Oh, I think she might be," she told him. "And you are _definitely_ hers. All you need is the rings to complete the image."

Cullen glanced at her sharply. "I'm not - that isn't ..." He sighed, shaking his head. "I haven't even kissed her, 'bela."

"But you will," Isabela assured him. "Or she'll kiss you. If you're not married and boring together by the end of the next year, I will eat my hat."

He felt himself laugh a little at that, more touched than amused by her comment on his love life. "That's remarkably optimistic, coming from you."

"What?" She flashed him her familiarly wicked smile. "Just because _I'm_ not a marriage and babies sort doesn't mean I can't appreciate it in others. You've been alone for too long, Cullen."

"Not without cause," he murmured, the lightness in his expression fading as he thought of Rory.

Thought of how much she would have enjoyed this party, reconnecting with friends he saw less of now she wasn't around to keep him social. _She'd_ be the one dancing with Garrett, both of them doing their utmost to make both him and Isabela jealous of an outrageous display that meant absolutely nothing to the dancers involved. Was he really doing the right thing, letting affection for someone new rule his heart like this?

The question must have been obvious on his face. "She would approve," he heard Isabela say quietly at his side. "Not just for you, though Maker knows you need a good woman in your life, but for Alys, too. Mila's just right for both of you. And whether you realize it or not, you're just right for her." She nudged him pointedly. "Stop making excuses and just marry the woman already."

_Pull your head out of your backside and enjoy what life is giving you, Cul._

Cullen blinked, glancing sharply about. He could have sworn ... But no, that was impossible. Rory was gone; had been gone for four years. He was hearing things that could not possibly exist, remembering a beloved voice telling him what he needed to hear just at the moment when he needed it. And he felt himself smile, because that was _exactly_ what Rory would have done.

"Would you accept a First Day kiss in lieu of a marriage proposal?" he asked Isabela, watching as Mila stepped back from Garrett, laughing and fanning her face after the exuberant dance.

The gorgeous woman at his side laughed in the face of his mild adjustment to her proposition. "I think your opportunity has just presented itself," she agreed, nodding toward the dance-floor.

Mila caught his eye with an inviting smile, jerking her head toward the balcony as she mimed being too warm. Cullen nodded, his own smile accepting that invitation as he felt his determination to be honest solidify. It was a risk, yes, but a risk worth taking. She was warm and kind, had shown him nothing but friendship in these last weeks since Satinalia. More than friendship - he may have been out of practice, but even he could tell that her friendship had turned to friendly flirtation in recent days. That was all the encouragement he needed. He _knew_ her, inside and out. His Dear Friend might be a little shocked to learn who he was, but she wouldn't reject him outright. He just had to have a little faith.

Despite the crowd at the party, the balcony was mostly empty when Mila made it outside, the freezing chill in the air enough to set the hair on her arms to standing as she hugged herself. But it was a welcome chill, too hot inside to linger for much longer. Too noisy to countenance saying what she needed to say to Cullen in these last minutes before First Day arrived. The city was a strange mix of light and dark as time ticked on toward midnight, a halo'd silhouette against the clear darkness of a star-spangled sky. Could she do this? Was she really brave enough to pull back the veil and lay herself open to the very real risk of having her heart broken by a man who might not even be ready to let go of the past yet?

A man who had shown in the last two months that he was everything she longed for. Not just a stubborn co-worker with a bad attitude, though that still reared its head from time to time, but a good man with a kind heart and a healthy wit to temper his occasional moody moments. Not so very different from herself. He was more than he seemed, as she knew from all the letters they had shared. So why was she so nervous of laying herself bare to him? He wouldn't hurt her. Cullen would never be able to bring himself to hurt her, she was sure of it.

Soft warmth wrapped about her shoulders, startling her from her thoughts - Cullen, laying his suit jacket around her to stave off the chill. He smiled as he leaned against the railing at her side.

"I thought you might need it," he murmured, one hand shifting to gently curl about her chilled fingers.

"Thank you."

Mila watched as his fingers wrapped between her own, barely conscious of the way her palm fitted to his so easily. And that was just it ... they fitted together _easily_. Without all the arguments at work, every moment spent around Cullen was comfortable. Wasn't that worth taking a risk for?

"You know, this time last year I was watching the countdown on television, writing a letter to someone I barely knew," Cullen mused, apparently talking to the muted cityscape in front of them even as his thumb traced gently up and down the line of her own.

She felt her lips twitch into a knowing smile. "I spent this time last year _reading_ a letter from someone I barely knew," she countered, knowing perfectly well that they both knew they were talking about each other. The only difference was that Cullen didn't know she knew. "Someone who means a lot to me now."

He glanced at her face, the faintest of frowns touching his brow. "Anyone I know?" he asked, his tone exaggeratedly nonchalant as the countdown to the new year began with enthusiasm in the penthouse behind them.

Mila laughed, shaking her head at his attempt to play innocent still. She turned to face him, stepping close enough that it was barely a motion at all to lay her hand against his chest, to feel the thump of his heart stutter at her touch as she let her gaze flicker to his lips before rising to meet the whiskey-warm wariness of his eyes.

"Dear Friend," she murmured softly, watching the play of surprise, alarm, warmth spread over his face at the familiar epithet. "Don't put me back in Box 754. I don't want to spend another year without you, or the Nuglet."

She felt his fingers flex in her own, the gentle brush of his open hand against her side as the tension slipped from his form; as he _relaxed_ against her, leaning in as much as she did, until his brow met hers. Nose to nose, eye to eye, they held close for long moments in silence, as excited voices rose to welcome in the new year. But those voices seemed very far away in this moment that was suddenly very private, very intimate - a moment that belonged just to them, laid bare to one another for the first time as the letter-writers and colleagues that had come to mean so much more in the year just gone.

His lips moved, the barest whisper of her name to ghost against her mouth, and suddenly there was no space between them, no breath to lose, no chill to stiffen her limbs. Only warmth and trust, the tender caress of lip to lip, a kiss for which she had longed for what felt like a lifetime. As Cullen's hands slid to her back, pulling her close against his chest, her own found their way to his arms, his shoulder; her fingers trailing to the prickle of stubble at his jaw as one kiss became two, became three, both of them losing count in this release of secrets and doubts and yearnings. Until kisses became smiles, hers and his, and smiles became laughter, two bodies still clinging together, cheek to cheek on a chilly balcony, laughing at themselves at their own wary doubts that had kept them from realizing how _real_ this truly was between them.

Cullen's nose gently slid along the line of her jaw as he drew back, his breath ghosting to her skin even as he lifted his head, the whiskey-warmth of his eyes bright and just for her. His lips touched the tip of her nose affectionately as she leaned into him.

"Happy First Day, Mila."

Her lips parted in a wide smile, the tip of her nose circling his as she cradled his face between her hands. There would be ups and downs, she was certain of it, but this right here, this was real and honest and filled with promise. _This_ was worth everything they'd put each other through to get to. She let her lips touch his once more, lingering on the scar that tugged at the upper curve of his smile even as she made her own promise to him.

"First of many."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends! A little later than I had anticipated, thanks to unforeseen circumstances, but we made it here! Come find me on [tumblr](https://shannaraisles.tumblr.com/) if you fancy dropping a prompt for these two or just saying hi!


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